


Twilight of the Gods

by blueenvelopes935



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 247,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21166091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueenvelopes935/pseuds/blueenvelopes935
Summary: “The marriage was a mistake and I regret it.  But I learned from it.”“What did you learn?”She takes her time before she answers.   It’s a non-answer, really.  But still, her few words speak volumes.  “I will never love again.”He nods and meets her eyes steadily over his respirator.  He has his mask off and his scars—visible and invisible—are on full display.  “Neither will I.”  They learned the same lesson, it seems.An unsuspecting woman rescues a Lord of the Sith in more ways than one.   He’s reeling from a major defeat and out of favor with his fickle Master.  And now, for the first time, the erstwhile Anakin Skywalker, now Lord Vader, begins to question the life he has convinced himself to accept.  Maybe it is time to let the past die.  But can he truly move on?





	1. Chapter 1

“The paintings . . . ” 

She’s sprawled in a heap, thrown violently to the floor of the freighter without warning. But the first thought through Astral’s mind is for the paintings. Because she hasn’t worked nearly three years on and off attempting to assemble this exhibit for the rare and ultra-valuable works to be damaged in transit. It took way too much time to coax their reclusive owner into loaning them out. Then the lawyers got involved with the insurance agents and that took even more time to reach agreement. Finally, the deal was struck and the date arrived to collect the works. And now, this happens?? 

“The paintings . . . oh Gods, the paintings . . . “ she mutters.

They had better not be damaged. She’s using the same freight carrier she always does. They are the only outfit you can trust with museum quality art. Normally, they do an excellent job. But as always, Astral herself has tagged along to supervise as the museum’s representative. She’s a bit of a micromanager here at the end when it counts. It’s for unforeseen circumstances just like this. 

A quick glance out the window tells Astral what she already knows: they are no longer in hyperspace. Something has abruptly caused the ship to revert to normal space. The resulting shockwave of gravitational forces sent her flying from her seat. No doubt it has sent a ripple of chaos through the cargo bay as well. So Astral picks herself up, smooths her dress, and tucks back a strand of hair that has slipped loose. Time to check on the paintings. She mentally prepares herself for the worst. 

But first, she collects the fallen datapad she had been holding when the ship lurched so spectacularly. Great. It’s broken. Astral gives up trying to save the draft essay she had been writing for an exhibit catalog. For some reason, the datapad refuses to connect to the museum server. Well, whatever. She’ll deal with that later. The Alderaan Museum of Modern Art might be famed for its exceptionally curated collections, but its information technology leaves a lot to be desired. 

“Are you okay?” It’s one of the crew standing in the doorway to the small lounge area that Astral has been occupying as her makeshift office during the long flight.

“Yes, I’m fine. Have you checked the paintings?” she frets.

“I’m heading there now,” the man answers. 

“I’m coming too.” Astral wants to see for herself.

Together they head for the cargo bay. They don’t have far to go. A freighter this size is almost all storage space, with a small command center, crew quarters, lounge, and galley tacked on. 

In the cargo bay, they find upended boxes and crates lying askew everywhere. But Astral ignores the general disarray and keeps walking. She only cares about the ten large crates in the far back. Those are the ones with the paintings.

“What happened?” she asks as she strides fast.

“Some sort of hyperspace malfunction. The Captain is working on it now.”

“Hyperspace malfunction?” That sounds serious. Astral stops and looks to the man with concern. “Are we in trouble?”

“I don’t think so. It must have been a precautionary automatic exit. The computer kicks in to override lightspeed when there is danger.”

“D-Danger??”

“Like debris or another ship in our path. It’s a failsafe to avoid a collision,” the crewman explains. He must see her growing alarm because again he reassures her. “I think it’s fine. When I left the cockpit, the Captain was saying that our engines checked out fine.”

“Oh, good.”

There’s more good news. The paintings check out fine as well. They are, of course, carefully crated with shock absorbent, waterproof, soundproof, fireproof packaging. But still . . . They are mixed media works and that makes them more fragile than the usual oil painting. Part of the dark beauty of the graphic war scenes they depict is their three-dimensional nature. It’s how the artist draws you into the look and feel of a place like Felucia at the height of the Clone Wars. 

Now very relieved, Astral finally smiles and exhales. 

“Come on, let’s go see what the Captain says,” the man beckons her along. They both head for the command center to find out what has happened.

Things are far from relaxed as they walk in. The Captain and the rest of his four-man crew are all seated with headsets on looking tense. There is an insistent alarm buzzing and the entire instrument panel is lit up. Even to Astral’s untrained eye, something is very wrong. The huge cockpit window that should show the undulating blue spirals of hyperspace is now full of space rocks. Giant pieces of twisted metal appear to be hurtling in every direction, bouncing off the craft’s shields. Somehow, Astral saw none of this debris out of the lounge window that faces aft.

“Did we come out of hyperspace into a meteor shower? Or some kind of asteroid collision?” the crewman at her side asks.

“What’s that flashing?” Astral frets.

The Captain turns to bark over his shoulder at them. “Go strap yourself in. I’m going to try to make the jump to lightspeed again.”

“There’s another ship coming in,” a crew member in a headset speaks up. 

“Maybe they know what happened—”

“Negative. It’s a short-range fighter. Imperial Navy. TIE class.”

“There aren’t any bases around here. Where did it come from?”

“It’s broadcasting distress, Sir.”

“Hail them,” the Captain orders. “If we got interdicted this roughly, a ship that size might be in real trouble.”

His words bear truth. For ominously, the communication attempt for the disabled ship fails. 

“That’s not a good sign,” the worried Captain mutters.

“Sir, they scan for a single lifeform. They appear to be disabled and drifting. Well . . . more like spinning.”

“They probably got hit by whatever this debris field is,” the Captain theorizes. “How close are we?”

The navigator speaks out coordinates. 

“Alright,” the Captain decides. “Let’s go have a look before we jump. Pick them up with the tractor beam. Looks like we just got some more cargo, folks.” 

“I saw a first aid kit in the lounge,” Astral remembers suddenly. 

“Good idea,” the Captain nods. “I don’t like that they didn’t answer our com. Go get it and meet us at the airlock please.”

Astral fetches the medical kit and then heads for the cargo bay. The invisible tractor beam is ferrying the disabled craft across the airlock as she walks up to join the others. 

The small military warship they have retrieved appears to be heavily damaged. One hooked wing is half gone. The other wing is intact, but battered. The paint on the ship looks like it has been peeled off, too. Whatever calamity this pilot survived, he was lucky, Astral judges. She can’t see him through the cracked cockpit window though. All she sees is a slumped black shape. It makes her worry that the pilot is either dead or unconscious. 

The tractor beam disengages and the ship crashes to the floor with a loud metal thud. Evidently, the repulsor lifts are no longer working because the craft cannot stay aloft on its own. The impact topples the unbalanced ship and the half missing wing now fully crumples, making the TIE fall forward with a loud crunch.

Everyone cringes. 

Two crew members head over to investigate as Astral and the Captain hang back. Ordinarily, the men would need a ladder to reach the cockpit entry point. But with the TIE face down on the floor, that’s not an issue. Working together, the men deploy the manual hatch. The TIE hisses for a moment as the small ship depressurizes to equal the surrounding freighter. Then, the crewmen poke around inside.

Astral nervously awaits clutching the medical kit as the Captain frowns. 

“C-Captain . . . “ a voice calls weakly from within the TIE.

“Is he alive?”

“Captain . . . “ the voice calls again. Louder this time. “Captain, you need to see this.”

As requested, the Captain investigates. “Get him out,” is all Astral overhears. Then, there is much grunting and tugging as all three men labor to extract the pilot. 

Growing increasingly nervous for the state of the rescued man, Astral opens the medical kit and begins to unpack its contents. There are bacta patches, stim shots, and painkillers. An oxygen mask, more bandages, and some antibiotic ointment. Astral takes inventory to familiarize herself with the contents. But someone else will need to tend to the injured man, because she’s the squeamish type. Already, her hands are shaking as she contemplates any number of gory injuries on the unlucky pilot. If he’s alive, that is.

When she looks up, the three crewmen and the Captain are kneeling in a thick knot around a black shape lying on the ground. Astral sees the pilot’s long legs and black boots, but she doesn’t see movement. That’s not a good sign.

“I think he’s dead.”

“He’s dead.”

“Yeah, he’s dead. Too bad.”

From these words, Astral is not sure she wants to look closer. She approaches very tentatively, clutching her kit of supplies she now fears are unnecessary. “Captain, Sir. . . Oh,” she finishes. Now she understands what the fuss is about. “Oh, no.” Dismayed Astral puts a hand to her mouth.

“Captain, do you agree?” a crewman asks for his concurring opinion.

But the Captain doesn’t answer. He, like Astral, is staring at their patient. 

She knows this man. Everybody knows this man. The mask is unmistakable. Even iconic. The suit, the tangled cape, the lightsaber strapped to his waist . . . Yep, that’s him. It could only be him. Darth Vader. Astral has seen him countless times on the holonet newsfeeds, but never did she dream to see the man in the flesh.

“Oh, no.” The words of distress escape her lips again.

Here is the warrior who helped Emperor Palpatine end the brutal Clone Wars that the paintings they transport depict. For years he has been the towering strongman enforcer who administers much of the Empire. A mysterious caped and masked man with a nonexistent past who one day burst on the scene at the highest levels. He is a magnet for holonet conspiracy theories, a man with no title, no rank, and no credentials who essentially operates as second in command to the Emperor. And for that task, he bears the brunt of the public criticism leveled at the regime. For while the much lauded Palpatine might remain above the fray, his bad cop counterpart Lord Vader does not. This man is the favorite focus for malcontents. He seems to enjoy it, too. For Lord Vader has none of the former Senator Sheev Palpatine’s goodwill and politician schmooze. Darth Vader is famously gruff, habitually laconic, and publicly unapologetic. 

In fact, his many years in that role have made his name part of the lexicon. Everyone knows what it means when a company’s spokesman announces that its board has hired a new person to be their ‘Vader.’ Here comes the take no prisoners, accept no excuses chief operating officer who will be supremely effective. Here is the person who will roll up their sleeves to do the dirty work for others to take credit. His name is a byword for ruthless determination for his ends always justify his means. He’s an unsung hero to some, and an archvillain to others. And apparently, he’s lying dead on the floor of this freighter. It’s . . . it’s . . . wrong on so many levels. Astral doesn’t know exactly how to feel. But her first thought is that a man such as this is far too tough and much too important to die alone and anonymously like this.

Beside her, the Captain removes his cap. The other crew members follow suit. “Rest in peace, Lord Vader,” he intones solemnly.

“Are you sure?” she speaks up. Astral kneels down now too. Momentarily casting aside her first aid kit, she argues softly, “Just because he’s moving doesn’t mean he’s dead—“

“The lights on his suit are off,” someone points out. “He needs the suit to live. At least, that’s what people say . . .”

“Is he bleeding anywhere? Is he injured?” she mutters as she looks for a reason for his death.

“He’s not wheezing. That means he’s not breathing,” another voice speaks up. “He must have suffocated.”

And those are both good points, but still . . . This man is so powerful and preeminent that they ought to at least be sure of his fate before they declare him gone. “Does he have a pulse?” Astral impulsively reaches for a gloved hand. It’s too thick to feel through, so she yanks the glove off. “Ugh!” she recoils immediately. For there is no flesh beneath the black leather covering. Just a skeletal metal prosthetic. It’s unexpected and super creepy. Not to mention cold. 

Astral looks up fearfully to the Captain. “Try the other one,” he suggests softly. 

She does. But this hand too is missing. Darth Vader has two robot arms, she realizes with some shock.

So where else can she feel his flesh to see if he’s still living? Abandoning the choice of his remaining limbs, Astral goes for the head and chest. Because those parts can’t be mechanical, right? He has to have a functioning brain and a beating heart to live, she reasons, no matter how gruesome his injuries. And since there doesn’t appear to be a way to open his chest plate, Astral reaches for the mask. Her fingers tremble as she feels along the hard, angular edges of what approximates the jawline. 

“Lord V-Vader, can you hear m-me?” Astral stammers as she pokes. She peers into the red tinted eye holes, trying to see a glimmer of life within. “Are you okay? We w-want to h-help you.”

But hearing no response, she keeps exploring around. There it is. She finds a latch on both sides of the helmet near the neck. It must be how the big mask opens. But she hesitates. Should she do this? This is a man who hides his face from the galaxy. Probably for good reason. It feels like a terrible invasion of privacy to lift his veil of secrecy without his permission. 

So, she tries again to rouse the still man. “Lord Vader? Lord Vader??” Her voice squeaks and cracks with the intensity of the moment. “Your ship was damaged and we—“

“He’s dead,” the Captain shakes his head sadly as he sits back on his heels. “Face it, he’s dead. We’re too late . . . ”

“Well, I guess if he’s dead, it won’t matter if we remove the mask,” Astral reasons aloud. She’s still not ready to give up.

“Then, do it,” the Captain instructs. He meets her eyes. “You’re right. It’s the only way to know for certain.”

“Are you sure?” Astral second guesses herself. She hesitates again. Mostly hoping that one of the crewmen will volunteer to do this in place of her.

But there are no takers. And the Captain continues to warm to the idea. “The Imperial authorities will be crawling all over us to investigate this. You’re right to want to be absolutely certain. Plus, we owe it to the man to make every effort.”

“Okay,” Astral nods along.

“Go ahead. Take it off. I will take full responsibility,” the Captain assures her.

Swallowing hard, she follows his instructions. The clasps on either side of the neck deploy easily. She feels the mask separate a little. There is a hiss of air release not unlike the decompression when the TIE’s hatch opened. For that’s how separate this man is from the world around him. Oh, Gods, what lies beneath this mask, Astral wonders. Her trepidation increases. Forgive me, she thinks as she leans in close to lift the heavy helmet up. I’m only doing this to see if we can help you . . .

Astral barely raises the mask an inch. Then one metal skeletal hand moves fast to grasp her throat and squeeze hard. The other hand reaches for his laser sword. It ignites with a sharp crack followed by a hiss. It all happens incredibly fast. Before Astral can blink, there is a glowing red laser sword poised above her head beginning to hum.

Shocked Astral freezes. Her mind is still catching up to what has happened. She’s only vaguely aware that the buttons on Lord Vader’s chest plate begin to blink. It’s weirdly as if the guy has just rebooted like some droid or a datapad.

“Close the mask,” Lord Vader orders in an amplified baritone rasp.

With frantic fingers, Astral does as she is told. She hears the hiss and slight whine as the helmet seals. Then, a split second later, mechanical breathing begins to cycle. This is the telltale sign of Lord Vader—the baleful, incessant respirator.

The man has a hand at her throat and a sword at her head, but Astral can’t help but smile down at him with enormous relief. “You’re alive . . . “ she chokes out as his grip loosens. “You’re alive . . . “ This feels at least as important as finding the paintings unharmed. Astral is inexplicably happy to have helped to rescue him.

She gets no thanks, though. The Emperor’s henchman thrusts her away roughly. She sprawls. And now, yet again, Astral is picking herself up off the floor. This time, the Captain is sputtering out information to Lord Vader as he and the crew also climb to their feet. Wheezing Astral takes a few moments longer than the rest to collect her wits and right herself. By the time she gets a good look at their rescued special guest, he too is on his feet. And, wow, is he big standing up. Well, not especially big. More like tall. Astral herself is not short, but she’s eye level only with the clasp on Lord Vader’s cape. That realization makes her step back fast. She’s feeling physically intimidated by his very presence. Plus, she’s still unsettled by his droid hands. That scary sword doesn’t help either.

But if he notices her from behind that red eyed gargoyle mask, he doesn’t let on. Lord Vader promptly turns off his sword and replaces his gloves. Then he waves an imperious hand to silence the Captain’s nervous rambling. His brief brush with vulnerability over, the Imperial enforcer is now in complete command of his faculties. His booming voice abruptly demands to be shown to the cockpit. The crew fall all over themselves to show the way. Still, he is the one ahead first, Astral sees. His long confident strides make short work of the distance. 

And just like that, Darth Vader takes over the ship. The intimidated Captain and crew yield to him completely. They, together with Astral, end up standing at the rear of the command center watching Lord Vader fly the freighter singlehandedly. And as the improbable events continue to unfold fast in real time, it becomes apparent that the rescued warlord has all the answers they lack.

The Captain keeps trying to convey what little he knows. “We were interdicted out of hyperspace . . . our computers went down. They’re not yet back online. Sir, I don’t know our exact position--”

“We’re in the Yavin System by Yavin IV,” the masked man supplies without so much as turning around.

“Right,” the nervous Captain removes his hat to wipe at his brow. “If that’s true, then this debris field isn’t on any of the charts---”

“It’s new. A military space station exploded close by. That’s what kicked your ship out of its jump.”

“When did it happen?” the flustered Captain asks, sounding defensive. “Because there was no general alert for the sector when we made our jump. All communications are disrupted now. I’m not sure why—”

“The Rebels are jamming all transmissions,” Lord Vader explains coolly. “Their secret base is here in Yavin.”

“R-Rebels?” the Captain echoes weakly as they all exchange wary glances. “You mean the traitors against the Empire?”

“Yes,” Lord Vader replies, finally turning from the controls to face them. “Rebels. Captain, your ship just stumbled onto their biggest terrorist attack yet.”

“Oh, no,” Astral mutters. “Are there other people who need help?”

“No,” Lord Vader replies with grave finality. “I am the sole survivor.”

“Oh,” she deflates. Astral looks down to mumble, “How terrible . . . ”

Looking past the masked man to the controls he operates, a crewman now realizes aloud, “You got the communications back online, Sir.”

Lord Vader confirms, “I logged into the Imperial network. Captain, I am commandeering this ship due to the emergency situation. You are being diverted to Coruscant. You can continue from there to your original destination once your ship’s databanks have been wiped.”

“We’re headed to Alderaan,” the nervous Captain supplies. 

Lord Vader digests this information. “Captain, you and your crew had better go turn on the holonet. You won’t be going to Alderaan. Ever.” With that cryptic pronouncement, the famous man turns back to the ship’s controls. It’s something of a curt dismissal.

So Astral, the Captain, and his quaking crew troop to the lounge where she has spent the last nine hours. They turn on the holonet newsfeed, which is working now. And that’s when Astral’s life falls apart. Because there are two lead news stories, each shocking to behold. The latest is the news they heard from Lord Vader himself: that Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, managed to steal the plans to a secret Imperial space station. Using the plans to exploit a technical weakness, the Rebels launched a brazen, unprovoked attack. The space station was destroyed and all aboard were killed. The casualty losses are estimated in the tens of thousands. 

It is a horrific tale of political violence, but the earlier news story dominates the ongoing coverage. It too is a tragedy, but of far greater proportions. Because somehow an enormous, unexplained explosion has occurred and Astral’s home planet of Alderaan has been destroyed. 

There will be no delivering the paintings now.

The Rebels are claiming it was a cruel weapons test for the Imperial space station they attacked, but the official statement from Emperor Palpatine’s spokesman flatly denies that assertion. In fact, it is the militant, anarchist Rebels who are strongly suspected of destroying the planet. But no conclusions can be reached without a full investigation. The Palace has appealed for calm as the situation develops. They have asked for citizens to refrain from jumping to quick conclusions until the facts become clear. They assure everyone that the Emperor is safe and that the Empire is secure. Sheev Palpatine, who held the galaxy together after the Clone Wars toppled the Old Republic, will not let its fledgling successor Empire split in two. 

But clearly, this is a crisis. There is fear that the Rebel Senator Mon Mothma is forming a new Separatist-type succession movement under the guise of her newly announced terrorist group, the Alliance to Restore the Republic. So as a precaution, the Emperor has taken the extraordinary step of temporarily disbanding the Senate. The regional Imperial governors will now have direct control over their territories until the dangerous Rebel threat abates. Because if those terrorists can destroy an entire planet, they are capable of anything. Order must be maintained for a safe and secure society. 

None of it really makes sense. It’s a lot of doublespeak and conflicting unconfirmed eyewitness accounts. But wherever the blame belongs and no matter the motive, the consequences are the same: billions of people are dead and an entire world is gone. And everyone who Astral cares about and everything that she owns have been obliterated with her doomed planet.

It doesn’t seem real. She sits in stunned disbelief watching for hours as the footage replays and the round-the-clock breathlessly overwrought media coverage continues. For the press is at its most manipulative and lurid in times like this. But the more details she hears don’t seem to matter. Astral simply cannot fathom the meaning of this news. It’s too much to comprehend at once.

The Captain and his crew are from Kuat, so they aren’t personally affected. They make awkward but sincere overtures of sympathy to her. But mostly, they stay away. And that’s understandable. They are strangers. They don’t really know her. But the problem is that everyone is a stranger to Astral now. She finds herself one of a few thousand citizens of Alderaan who were off-world for the calamity. Suddenly, she’s a survivor. Does that make her lucky or unlucky? She isn’t certain. 


	2. chapter 2

Today is an unmitigated disaster. But a foreseeable one. And that makes it all the more galling. 

As the Apprentice, he’s experienced enough with bad news to know that his Master most likely will be shooting the messenger. Failure does not go unpunished, even if the root cause is other people’s shortcomings. Or, in this case, his Master’s own hubris. But truthfully, he can’t wait to see Sheev to tell him ‘I told you so.’ It will be so worth the lightning.

But first, he has to get to Coruscant in this slowpoke freighter. It’s a reconditioned craft that quite intentionally chugs along slowly but smoothly. The Captain said they mostly transport art and precious heirlooms, of all things. Well, those paintings or sculptures or whatever they’re carrying won’t make it to Alderaan now. And that’s yet another problem to add to his growing list. Because putting aside the loss of the Death Star and the unexpected potency of Mon Mothma’s military insurgency, an entire world has been destroyed. 

Blowing up Alderaan is a colossal waste. Yes, fear can be an excellent motivator. Vader knows that from personal experience. But Tarkin’s dream of intimidating the whole galaxy into submission was foolhardy. The approach will only engender resentment, he had long ago argued to Sheev. Because placing too many limitations on people tends to make them rebel, rather than to submit. He spoke from experience as a former slave and as a failed Jedi. Too many rules and too much control breeds insurrection rather than loyalty.

But Tarkin had dismissed the concern, of course. Then he had proceeded to sell Sheev on his ‘rule by fear’ doctrine. Tarkin successfully goaded his Master into proving his Sith cred by building that overbudget monstrosity. The Empire had spared no expense pursuing Sheev’s dream of the ultimate super weapon. Once it was built, of course it would be used. Tarkin had been positively gleeful about the prospect. 

In the course of something like four days, that Sith wannabe managed to destroy what was left of the holy city on Jedha, to pulverize picturesque Alderaan, and to destroy an important Imperial records facility and sizeable garrison on Scarif. Tarkin’s scorched earth policy of rampant overkill was exactly what Vader had warned Sheev about. Because once you start that sort of thing, it’s hard to stop. Everything escalates in war when there is no proportionate response. And that means the small band of Rebel zealots they face today could quickly mushroom into billions of malcontents. And then, controlling them will be a much harder task. 

But Sheev had ignored his warnings. And given what has transpired, Vader’s record of dissent is not a helpful fact in hindsight. Because knowing paranoid Sheev Palpatine, he will be imagining treachery from his Apprentice. No doubt his Master will question whether his efforts to recapture the plans were sincere given his longstanding opposition to the weapon. And if Sheev ever learns about that Force-strong pilot who took out the Death Star? Well, things could get very dicey then. As it is, Vader is fully expecting his Master to suspect him of taking the shot himself. He’s still the best starpilot in the galaxy and his Master knows it.

He wonders how Sheev is explaining Alderaan now that he doesn’t have a fancy super weapon to threaten his critics with. Demonstrating the station’s destructive power is rather inconvenient now that the station is gone. So what’s the rationale for murdering your own citizens? The Empire won’t be able to excuse this away as a mining disaster like Jehda. 

Tarkin’s test fire on a very populated planet—a Core planet at that—was a huge mistake. Vader had said so repeatedly behind closed doors. Just not in front of the Rebel princess. But it didn’t matter. Tarkin had the authority and he was going to use it. Long ago, Sheev had tired of his own repeated objections to the Death Star and cut him out of its oversight completely. His Master’s pet project became one of very few areas in the Empire where Darth Vader has no say. 

Truthfully, he’s glad that the decades-in-the-making technological terror is destroyed. Super weapons just tempt fate, in his opinion. Sheev pushed too far and now the Force has pushed back. Ostensibly, it was the Rebels who destroyed the weapon. But Vader knows better: the Force had been with that X-wing pilot who made the one-in-a-million shot. And that bizarre occurrence, together with Obi-Wan’s sudden coincidental re-emergence to rescue the Rebel princess, have him thinking all sorts of fanciful ideas. 

Because could it be? 

Could that pilot be one of his long-lost twins? 

Or is that too convenient of an explanation? It’s not common knowledge, but there are still Jedi around. Ahsoka, for one. And she’s known to be mixed up with the Alliance. So, apparently, was Obi-Wan.

Still, the Force works in mysterious ways. Stranger things have happened. So, the convergence of recent events has him deeply suspicious. And . . . privately hopeful. So, he prays now to the Force: Let his Master not have sensed the disturbance he himself felt. Let not Alderaan’s loss be in vain. Let the defeat of the Death Star and the rise of the Rebel Alliance be the reasons for the Force to reveal its plans at long last. Because there has to be a grand design for all of it. Otherwise, his life and his suffering have no purpose. Padme will have died for nothing. And that’s a shabby way for the Force to treat the Chosen One.

Vader wants to meditate on all of that. To seek the wisdom of the Force. But first, there will be a very uncomfortable interview with his Master to endure. His job in the whole Death Star debacle had been security. He was supposed to recapture the plans and protect the station. And he had failed . . . rather spectacularly. And now, he knows, there will be Hell to pay. But rather than draw it out with delay, he wants to get it over with. 

How much longer? He checks the flight plan again. Four more hours. Well, he’s read all the reports he cares to read about the ongoing assault against the retreating Rebels. And there will be plenty of time for the post mortem on the Death Star. Plus, knowing Sheev, the Empire will be building a new and improved version in no time. Brute force has become his Master’s favorite tactic of late. It’s a far cry from the sophisticated manipulation he employed back in his Senate days before he became a tyrant.

So beset with troubles and bored with reading status reports, Vader stands to his feet to exit the command center. He sweeps past the silent Captain and his quaking four crewmen. Vader doesn’t really know where he’s going. He just wants a change of scenery.

He doesn’t have many choices, so he ends up in a small lounge area with the holonet playing. A fretful woman stands watching. She startles visibly at his entrance. Who is this? Oh, yes. The woman who had tried to remove his mask. The Captain said she is aboard to escort the artwork they are ferrying. Vader glances over at the table cluttered with her things. She has a satchel overflowing with datafiles that is emblazoned with ‘Museum of Modern Art—Alderaan’ in green block script. And that explains her copious tears as she watches the media coverage. 

His sudden appearance prompts an impromptu mea culpa. The woman summons her courage and begins to stammer out. “My lord, I wish to explain . . . I did not intend to intrude or offend . . . I was trying to h—“

“You may dispense with the apologies,” he interrupts, waving a dismissive hand to shut her up. He hates groveling. He’s especially not in the mood for it today.

The words silence her. She looks at the floor, clearly cowed. “Yes, my Lord,” she finishes in a half whisper. Then she resumes watching the holonet coverage.

She is yet another problem for him to manage. Because this woman and all the other off-world citizens of Alderaan are going to be clamoring for help. And that’s reasonable. The survivors have lost everything. But there is more to the issue of Alderaan than just humanitarian relief and resettlement. The political ramifications will be enormous. If this isn’t handled properly, it could drum up sympathy for the Rebellion. Worst case, this could end in a civil war. No doubt ‘Remember Alderaan’ will become the new Rebel rallying cry.

Most immediately, there are the business implications of destroying an entire planet to be considered. The galaxy—especially the Core worlds—have very interconnected economies. The insurance losses alone will be staggering. Markets are going to melt as a result. Investors will be antsy and suddenly questioning the security of the Empire, for confidence is everything in financial markets. If it gets out of hand, it could be like the final days of the Republic all over again, with currency collapses and economic disaster threatening the major systems.

Yes, that damned Death Star was a very bad call. It flamed out fast, but its power to create lasting problems has certainly been confirmed. Sheev needs to get out in front of this situation fast. So where is he? The guy loves a speech. Why isn’t he on camera now? Vader glowers at the holonet screen he watches.

On the other side of the room, the museum woman is still crying. She’s keeps sniffling. It’s annoying. 

Perhaps he should have let her make her apology so she would be less upset. But he’s touchy about his health issues. And, well . . . he’s not dead yet. But not knowing how long he would end up drifting in space and worried for the limitations of his suit, he had put his body into a form of Force stasis to maintain his status quo. It temporarily slows down all bodily processes from breathing to metabolism. To an untrained eye, it looks like being unconscious or even dead. So the crew’s initial conclusion about his condition was understandable. But Vader won’t explain. Where his health is concerned, he cultivates a sense of mystery. He’s a very public figure, so he zealously guards his privacy. But most importantly, he wishes to conceal his true condition. 

Ugh. That woman’s quiet sobbing is really getting to him. He wishes she would stop. So he glares at her from beneath his mask.

She’s not young, but not old. Somewhere in the middle of her life, he guesses. But she has the aristocratic bone structure and posh grooming to obscure the effects of time. She’s the type of elite lady who was beautiful at twenty, is beautiful now at forty, and will still be beautiful at sixty and at eighty as well. But right now, she is sadly beautiful and it’s getting on his nerves.

He glares again, but it doesn’t seem to help. The preoccupied woman doesn’t even notice. So he watches her a moment as she watches the holonet coverage.

The overall impression she gives is very edited. Like she curates herself as much as her museum. The woman has coppery hair styled with a deep side part into a sleek bun. The dark plum dress she wears is so spare and so tailored that it must be expensive even though it lacks any adornment. She wears a green stone cuff bracelet and bold earrings of the same hue for some flair. But despite the vivid color, the overall look is very understated. It randomly occurs to him that this art dealer or museum director or whatever she is looks the furthest thing from his Padme. Women’s fashions have changed a great deal since his youth, and the belle epoque ornate lushness of the end of the Republic is long gone. In its place are streamlined, rather plain presentations like this woman’s. He’s not sure he likes it. 

But her restrained, stylized aesthetic is deeply at odds with the emotions that openly overflow her eyes. The woman is dripping in tears, with makeup running down her face. Worst of all, she’s sniffing loudly with annoying regularity. 

Just when he has heard enough crying and is ready to leave, the woman suddenly speaks. Her voice is choked with emotion and very grave. “If the Rebels did this, you need to bring them to justice,” she tells him. It comes out a bit like an order.

“You want revenge?” Vader counters, just to see what she’ll say. 

But she won’t quibble over semantics. “Someone must atone for this act,” she informs him. Again, it’s as though their roles are reversed and she is the one in charge. It’s presumptuous.

Still, he understands her sentiment. He’s a Sith. Revenge and obsessive hate are his thing. Except twenty years in, he has begun to realize just what a trap they can become. So on a rare magnanimous whim, Vader takes pity on this wretched woman and gives her some hard won advice he is trying to take himself: “Cry your tears and mourn your dead. Then move on. Don’t live for the past. Alderaan is gone.”

The woman looks at him blankly. As if perhaps she has misheard. “But my whole life is gone with it.”

“Then build a new one someplace else. Become someone new.” It’s what he did.

She squints at him through red rimmed eyes to protest again, “But my whole life is gone.”

He is blunt. It’s in sharp contrast to the sappy, feelgood ‘Alderaan Gone, But Not Forgotten’ media tagline that is displayed across the bottom of the holonet screen they are both watching. But some tough love is most definitely in order, Vader judges. “A year from now, two years from now, no one will care. The galaxy will move on and so should you. Leave the past behind,” he counsels. 

He is saying this advice for himself as much as for her. But the woman looks incredulous, almost offended by the sentiment. And maybe mere hours in, it’s too soon. But if you’re not careful, you can wallow in grief too long. And before you know it, twenty years will have passed before you finally concede defeat and admit that you cannot resurrect your dead wife with the Force. So it’s best to hear the truth of the matter now when the loss is fresh. 

The woman is indignant at what she perceives as his indifference. Now despite her tears, her voice is surprisingly steely. And all deference of ‘my Lord’ is gone. Instead, she nearly growls, “I want justice.”

“You won’t get it,” he is honest. “And even if you did, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“I want an investigation and a trial. I want answers,” she hisses. “Just like the Palace promised.”

Yes, he understands. He had wanted answers too. He spent a lot of time searching for answers. Torturing Jedi and even tracking down undertakers on Naboo. But he never solved the mystery. And even if he had, she’s still be dead. And that’s the point. “Answers won’t change a thing.” Dead is dead. Unless you’re Darth Plagueis the Wise, and he’s dead now too. 

“So, I’m just supposed to accept this?” she demands. 

“Yes.” It’s what he’s had to do. He’s speaking good advice from his own experience. For he is a longtime expert on loss and a recent graduate from grief. But she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t appreciate that in his own gruff way he is trying to be kind. “You will be stronger for it,” he promises. Again, partly for his own encouragement.

He turns away and exits the room, not wanting to confront the truth of the day as exemplified by this woman’s predicament. Because even after all these years a Sith, he likes to keep death a nameless, faceless endeavor for the most part. Especially death of innocents. He’s a Sith, so he will do what must be done, but still . . . he doesn’t have to like it. He refuses to glory in it. Mostly right now, he wants to be away from the woman’s confusion and heartbreak that feel disconcertingly familiar. He himself knows what it feels like to abruptly lose everything. 

When he sees her next, it is as they prepare for landing on Coruscant and the crew assembles for his instructions. She has dried her tears, tidied her hair, and repainted her face, Vader notices. It’s just what Padme would have done in the circumstances. She always cared a great deal about appearances. It gave her confidence, he remembers.

But whatever. There are tasks to be attended. The crew members will need to be debriefed upon arrival, the ship’s log and databanks will need to be wiped clean, and the wreckage of his TIE must be removed from the cargo bay. Once those chores are done, the woman, the freighter, and its crew can be on their way back to Kuat. Vader has already sent along instructions for his personal assistant Vanee to attend to those duties so he can seek out his Master. 

Old Vanee is the only person who knows that he is coming, and Vanee is completely trustworthy. Plus, Vader is arriving in a nondescript civilian vessel and not his personal shuttle that broadcasts his security clearance and priority status. But, as usual, it is hard to sneak up on his Master. So even though Vader is parking a mid-sized freighter on the landing pad adjacent to the Palace, he is expected. As the craft descends, six small red specs grow larger and larger until they are revealed to be red robed Imperial guards. And where there are Imperial guards, inevitably there is his Master. Sure enough, as the freighter’s ramp deploys, the cloaked and hooded Emperor of the known universe emerges to confront him. 

This is unprecedented. And, in the midst of a crisis of this magnitude, it is a particularly bad sign. 

Vader grits his teeth and mentally prepares himself for pain. It is time for a reckoning with his Master. Vader won’t fight back. He learned long ago that it is best to let Sheev vent his anger and display his dominance. In the end, that strategy results in less damage. But anxious to avoid any public display, Vader sends the crew down the ramp first for waiting Vanee to intercept and escort away. Same with the woman passenger. Once that’s done and there is relative privacy, Vader presents himself for punishment. 

Sheev doesn’t wait to allow him to take a knee in the traditional obeisance of the Dark Side. He’s too eager to begin. So as he walks up, his Master begins the humiliation with biting criticism. “You failed, Lord Vader. And now, you will pay the price.” His Master immediately raises his hands to summon his Force lightning. You don’t get to explain your actions on the Dark Side. It’s trial by ordeal every time.

Even so, Vader responds with a grim warning of his own. “Careful, Master, or your unwise obsession with super weapons will sow the seeds of our defeat.” The comment earns him his first blast of lightning. It makes him stagger. For this is the raw elemental power of the Dark Side. It is rage made manifest. It is hate weaponized. You don’t know the power of the Dark Side until you feel it as a victim. 

“Your failure is why we were defeated,” Sheev snarls.

But Vader stands his ground in more ways than one, charging, “The Force is why we were defeated. You dare too much.”

“A true Sith dares anything,” his Master sniffs. Then he punctuates the platitude with another full-strength blast of lightning. And try as he might to remain standing, Vader drops to his knees. His Master’s punishment hurts terribly and its effects are devastating. Already, his respirator function is beginning to fail. 

“I dare anything!” his Master crows maniacally. He is gleeful from the violence.

But Vader will make his point nonetheless. “Destroying a Core planet? Disbanding the Senate? What’s next? Martial law? Random executions?”

“If necessary.”

“None of this is necessary!” Vader argues back. But he slumps lower. He can’t draw enough breath. So he wheezes his bitter judgement out in a weak voice. “You overreach . . . it may have just . . . provoked a civil war,” he gasps.

“Peace is a lie,” his Master hisses. “How you disappoint me, Lord Vader.”

Vader is beyond talking now. Instead, he concentrates on slowing his heart rate and conserving his strength. He senses that his Master is just warming up. 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Darth Sidious has a sadistic streak a sector wide where his Apprentice is concerned. “You are a pathetic excuse for a Sith. Weak and feeble. More machine than man.”

Sheev really lays into him now. Fresh lightning streams from his Master’s fingertips in a torrent of deadly fury. It streaks over him, encircling him. Burning deep. The pain is excruciating. He can feel his neural circuitry frying in each prosthetic. It’s like he’s being electrocuted slowly from the inside. It hurts every bit as badly as his immolation long ago on the banks of a lava river. 

Sheev knows how dangerous this is. And yet he keeps up the assault. Is his Master really going to kill him this time? Because he’s heading there fast. Maybe he has misjudged this confrontation. But if so, it’s too late. Vader has lost the ability to resist. Force lightning can be deflected and sometimes absorbed, but he is capable of neither of those defenses just now. And so, he fries in agony on the landing pad pavement. His only goal now is to stay alive. 

Still, he manages to croak out the good news he hopes will be mitigating. “Kenobi is dead.”

That gets his Master’s attention. “How?”

“A sword through the neck.” Wheezing Vader omits the very significant detail that his old Jedi Master had literally disappeared into the Force leaving no body. It makes him suspicious that Obi-Wan isn’t truly dead. But Sheev doesn’t need to know that. “He was with . . . the Rebels who came to rescue . . . the Princess on the Death Star . . . ”

“You got your revenge?”

“Yes.”

“That just leaves Master Yoda left.”

“I will find him,” Vader promises from the ground. “I will wipe out the Jedi . . . all of them.”

Sheev smirks from beneath his hood and scoffs, “It’s been twenty years and you still have no idea where he hides. At this rate, Master Yoda will outlive us all.” His lip curls. “You’re half dead yourself,” Sheev sneers. “You’re worse than Dooku. So weak . . . so damaged,” he jeers. “Such a disappointment.”

It’s true. They both know that his Force powers have been greatly diminished by his injuries. For a time, they wondered if he might rebound. But alas, not. And now, not only was he not the Jedi he should have been, but he is not the Sith his Master plotted to achieve. It’s why Vader is forced to endure humiliations like this. Because he does not have the power to overthrow Darth Sidious, like he once did. It leaves him forever the punching bag, errand boy Apprentice. 

“Go home, Lord Vader,” his Master decrees with maximum disdain. “There you will remain until called for.” The dismissal signals that his ordeal is at an end. His Master surveys him sprawled, smoking, and sparking on the ground with utter contempt. Then he turns on heel and marches away with the trailing guards, leaving his Apprentice for dead. 

The moment he is gone, faithful Vanee creeps to his side to kneel with a triage bag. “How bad?” his longtime manservant breathes as he shoves a needle through his leather sleeve into the uppermost, still organic portion of his right arm. It’s a shot of serum that immediately super oxygenates his blood. It’s just what he needs when his respirator begins to fail. Oh, yes. That feels good.

“Master, talk to me—"

“It’s bad,” he groans. “All of them this time.”

Vanee understands immediately what he means. “Can you make it to Mustafar?”

“Yes. Not here.” The facilities on Coruscant are far too crude for the major work he needs. Plus, all his customized prosthetics are back at the castle. Vader refuses to go through the grueling process yet again only to end up with substandard results. 

Concerned Vanee looks dubious of this decision as he starts opening his chestplate to run diagnostics. The old guy’s furrowed brow confirms Vader’s own rudimentary assessment. “Yes, it’s bad. Master, are you sure you can wait that long?” 

“Yes.” Pain is nothing new. Even pain this bad can be endured . . . for a while at least. “Use the new ones I’ve been working on . . .”

Vanee nods. “Yes, Master. We will take care of you. You’ll be good as new in six weeks.”

“Take the freighter. Don’t wait for a shuttle. Get me away from here.” Get him away from Sheev before he decides to rule the galaxy without an Apprentice and stalks back to finish him off.

“Very good. Master, can you stand?”

“No.”

Vanee takes that news in stride. The old guy is always a cool head in a crisis. He flashes a wry half smile. “Then, it’s time to tug.” Vanee looks up to someone behind him and instructs, “Grab his hand. I’ll get the other. Together we’ll drag him up the ramp.” But whoever he’s talking to must be reluctant because Vanee speaks sharply to them. That’s a rare occurrence. “MOVE,” the old guy bellows. “There is no time to waste.”

With his fuzzy, short circuiting prosthetic nerve impulses, Vader barely feels someone grab his outstretched left hand off the ground. He can do nothing as Vanee and his helper heave and tug him into the ship. It’s no small task. He’s wearing armor and his artificial parts are heavy steel, making him far heavier than he looks. But Vanee is stronger and more spry than his age suggests. And the helper does their part, too. 

“Did you really get Kenobi?” Vanee asks hopefully when they are safely aboard. The panting servant is catching his breath from the exertion of dragging him.

Vader moans out the one bright spot in all of this, “He’s dead.”

“Good,” the old servant smiles. “I hope he suffered. Now, hold still, my Lord.” Vanee busies himself administering a stim shot to supplement the earlier oxygen injection. 

“Will he die?” a woman’s voice frets from behind where he lays on the floor. She must be Vanee’s helper.

And is she talking about him? “No,” Vader answers peevishly. He’s not dead yet. 

Vanee chuckles at this exchange. “It’s hard to kill a Sith.”

“Especially this one,” Vader deadpans. 

Vanee concurs, “You’re too mean to die, Master. And don’t you dare give Lord Sidious the satisfaction.”

The woman who spoke now walks into view. It’s the museum curator, like he suspected. She looks very intimidated as she wrings her hands anxiously.

“Enough,” he rasps to Vanee. “Get us aloft. Can you fly this thing?”

“I can try, Master.”

“Do better than that.”

“Yes, Master.” Vanee climbs to his feet with an assisting hand from the very worried looking museum woman. “Here,” Vanee tells her as he thrusts an oxygen mask from his triage bag at her. “Release the helmet with the latches at the neck. Take it off and put this on him. He needs more oxygen than the suit can give him right now.”

“T-Take off the m-mask??” the woman stammers. 

“Yes,” Vanee orders. Then he looks down to admonish him sternly, “Don’t die until I get back, Master. And you,” he orders the conscripted museum lady, “don’t kill him with your squeamishness. The future of the Empire depends on him. So, step up. He needs your help.” 


	3. chapter 3

This day is a nightmare that keeps unfolding. Just when it can’t get worse, it becomes more bizarre and horrifying. First, her ship is thrown out of hyperspace when a Rebel terrorist attack destroys a major military space station, leading to the improbable rescue of the stranded Darth Vader. And that’s how Astral discovers that her home planet Alderaan has been destroyed. Now diverted to Coruscant, she watches in stunned disbelief as a black cloaked and hooded man electrocutes Lord Vader by shooting lightning from his hands. It’s like a scene out of a holonet fantasy series, except it’s real. Minutes later, she is being ordered about by a stranger who comes to Lord Vader’s aid and conscripts her to help.

Her head is spinning, and her heart is numb. Astral can’t begin to comprehend all the complex conflicts she has suddenly been dropped into. And she has yet to begin to process all of today’s ramifications for her own life. But lacking any better option, she does what she is told. First dragging the wounded Darth Vader back into the shuttle. Now, removing his mask.

She knows from before where to find the latches to release his headgear. She recalls how heavy the mask is. She also remembers Lord Vader’s reaction from last time. And so, even though she now has permission, Astral knows he doesn’t want this. That knowledge has her particularly reluctant. But here goes. With a deep breath, she sinks to her knees and reaches to release the mask. The back swooping hood portion lifts off easily enough. Then the front part tips forward and disconnects. Astral lays it aside carefully before she turns back to her patient.

What she sees is not at all what she expects.

Lord Vader is completely bald with grey white mottled skin and a mighty scar that crawls up from the back of his head. His face is broad and thick featured. There are lines across his forehead from worry and long furrows between his brows, but no crinkles about his eyes. If this man smiles much, it hasn’t left a mark. But those alien yellow eyes . . . They are sunken, shadowed underneath by deep purple, and punctuated by an angry red raised scar that traces the curve of one cheekbone. Even now, blinking fast as he adjusts to the bright lights of the ship unmasked, those eyes are arresting. Soulful even, as they lock with hers to hold fast.

“Oh.” The soft word escapes her lips. 

Her mind registers that he has no eyebrows or eyelashes. It adds to the sickly impression his deathly pale skin gives. She can’t see his jaw or much below his nose. His lower face is mostly hidden by the remaining bottom portion of his mask. But still . . . she can’t tear her eyes away from his gaze. The red eye shields of his mask didn’t prepare her for this very human connection. His face might be monstrous to behold but for those unusually hued, but somehow very familiar eyes. They look so vulnerable . . . almost afraid. She worried that Lord Vader unmasked would appear gory or frightening. That she would be repulsed and squeamish. But she’s not. Something about this man and his obvious suffering are compelling. And rather than push her away, they draw her in. 

“Oh,” she whispers, more subdued this time. “Oh my . . .”

And that’s when Lord Vader breaks his gaze. His eyes fall closed. They squeeze tight. Shutting her out. 

It feels like rejection. It instantly breaks her fascination.

Recalling her purpose now, anxious Astral grabs for the equipment. With trembling, tentative fingers, she places the supplemental oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. Will the elastic strap reach around his head given the back portion of his mask is still on? It does. But is it uncomfortably tight? She loosens it as best as she can. And is the oxygen flowing? She can’t tell, so she toggles the activation button again. 

“Is it working?” 

He doesn’t answer. 

“My Lord?” she prompts. “Is it working?”

Again, he doesn’t answer. 

Worried, she brazenly cups his cheek with her hand. At her touch, his eyes instantly pop open. Again, they lock with hers.

“Is it working?” she asks again.

This time, he responds. “Yes.” With his mask off, his voice does not reverberate as usual. It sounds hoarse and raspy. Like an old man. It’s very different from the booming stentorian tones she expects. 

Unsettled but satisfied, she sits back on her heels and waits. 

Lord Vader closes his eyes again.

Lord Vader’s man now returns from the cockpit command center. He’s dressed in flowing black robes like the man who shot lightning from his fingertips. This assistant has strong, almost leonine features and bright, sharp eyes that rake her over as he reports. “We are in orbit in the queue for the jump. This is Coruscant, so it’s going to take forever.” The aggressively protective servant walks over to peer down at his Master lying supine with the top of his hard-shell mask off. “How is he?”

“Uhhh. . .” Astral doesn’t know how to respond. She’s not a trained medic and Lord Vader is a very complicated case for sure.

But Vanee looks him over and seems satisfied. “Good. He’s in the Force.”

“The Force?” she echoes blankly.

“The Force.” The man turns to admonish her solemnly, “Do not underestimate the power of the Force.”

“Doesn’t he need the mask on to live?” she worries.

“Only a respirator with sufficient oxygen to breath. The mask is optional at this point. But it keeps people from gawking.” The man says this with a pointed glare her direction. 

“I guess I’m gawking,” she whispers, feeling her face color. 

“Yes. Please desist.”

“Of course. Sorry,” she flushes further. She’s not trying to be rude. But it’s just as hard to look away from Lord Vader as it is hard to look upon him. For how this man has suffered. Even now Astral’s eyes dart over to his ruined face and she feels sympathy surge within her. No matter how you feel about politics, it is impossible to see his scarred visage and not feel compassion for his predicament. You’d have to have a heart of stone not to feel pity.

Vanee sees immediately what she’s thinking. “Do not pity him. He hates that.”

“But the poor man . . . ”

“He hates that. Stop it,” the servant snaps. He’s irritated and it shows. Apparently, Lord Vader’s earlier blunt lecture to her on acceptance and moving on are words that he himself lives by. His helper guy is aggressive about enforcing it, too. Astral looks from the servant to the master and decides that these are very tough people. Far tougher than she is.

“He’s aware of what’s going on. He can hear what you say,” the man reveals. “He’s not unconscious. He is meditating and not even very deeply. See? He’s still breathing fairly normally. When the Master gets deep in the Force, his breathing slows. Sometimes he even shimmers a little. Do not let it scare you.”

“Oh. I guess that’s what he did when his ship was damaged?” Astral theorizes. “We all thought he was dead.”

“My Master has all sorts of tricks and habits to conserve his strength and prolong his stamina. He’s as tough as they come,” the man praises Lord Vader’s grit. Astral hears the deep respect underlying those words loud and clear. But all that macho stoicism is lost on her. Astral can only see suffering. 

“Poor thing, he must be in terrible pain,” she murmurs softly. 

“I said stop that. And stop gawking. No pity, no staring,” the servant reproves her again. 

“Yes, of course. Sorry,” she gulps. She’s learning that this servant is just as commanding as his famous master. But are there any other options other than ‘grin and bear it’ here? “Can he take a painkiller?” There are some sedatives in the freighter’s first aid kit, Astral remembers.

Lord Vader’s man shakes his head. “He won’t take them. He prefers to use the pain for power. But distraction helps.”

Okay. Astral didn’t really understand all that. But she suggests, “Should I turn on the holonet? Or maybe some music?” 

“Pod racing. He likes pod racing.”

“Okay. I bet I can find that.” 

“I’ll go prepare the jump to lightspeed. You stay with him. Alert me if anything changes.” The man shoots Lord Vader another worried look. The servant is clearly very stressed, as is she. 

As the man heads for the door again, she stops him. “Wait—”

“Yes?”

“What is his name?”

“Lord Vader.”

“I mean his given name,” she clarifies.

The protective and suddenly suspicious servant gives her a quelling glance. He puts Astral in her place. “You may call him ‘my Lord’ or ‘Lord Vader.’ Either is acceptable.”

“Yes, of course,” she defers automatically. Because what was she thinking? Lord Vader is far too important to be spoken to by his personal name. And it’s natural for his loyal assistant to want to safeguard his Master’s dignity. To set boundaries. Especially at a time like this. 

The man departs again. Astral fiddles with the holonet menu a bit before she locates the right channel. She’s not a sports fan. She has never watched a pod race. As it turns out, they are just as boring as she has always suspected. Does anyone really care who wins the Boonta Eve Classic? And where in the galaxy is Tatooine anyway? It looks like one of those nasty Hutt crime worlds in the Rim.

Just when her eyes begin to glaze over from the play-by-play commentary, Lord Vader’s man reappears. This time, he looks visibly relieved. His whole demeanor is improved. “We’re in hyperspace,” he announces. “There isn’t enough fuel to make a single jump, so we’ll need to stop. But we’re safely away. Given the circumstances, we will travel anonymously. The danger is likely over, but you never know with Lord Sidious.” Lord Vader’s man makes a face. “The Sith can be petty.”

“Where are we going?” 

“Home to the castle. It’s on the Mustafar System in the Rim.” 

She’s never heard of that system. Astral looks to the man blankly and he supplies more details that mean nothing to her. “It’s a former Separatist mining colony.”

“Yes, of course,” she replies as though that information helps. But truly it matters not where they are heading. Astral has no place to be nor home to return to. All she owns are her purse, her work materials, and the small overnight bag she took with her. Well, she also has loose custody of the paintings. Astral feels a personal and professional responsibility for the fate of those paintings. 

So she speaks up. “Sir—Sir--” she falters, confessing, “I’m sorry, I don't know your name.” There wasn’t time for proper introductions on the landing pad or in the tense moments that followed. 

The servant looks a bit apologetic now, too. He smiles awkwardly and tells her, “I am called Vanee. I administer Lord Vader’s personal household. And you are?”

“Astral Sidhu.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” The man bobs a polite formal bow. Like they have just been introduced at the annual museum gala and not in a dreary starship on the run from an angry wizard while Darth Vader lies half dead on the floor. How did she get herself in this predicament? The rest of the crew were met on the landing pad by an Imperial official who immediately escorted them away for debriefing. That had just left Astral standing alone when Vanee walked up and the lightning started. Once again, Astral thinks she has been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Lord Vader’s man now sheepishly tries to make amends. “The Master and I are most grateful for your assistance. I am sorry that I spoke sharply to you earlier. The circumstances—“

“We’re all very stressed right now,” Astral preempts him from further explanations. “It hasn’t been the best day.” 

Vanee sighs. “No, indeed. It hasn’t.”

He’s worried about Lord Vader, but she’s worried about herself. Still, something about the resigned tone of the man’s voice perfectly captures how discouraged she feels. Astral is increasingly panicked, though she’s trying hard not to show it. But now again, tears flood her eyes and threaten to fall. She blinks them back and swallows hard. She can’t fall apart now.

Vanee sees this. He waits to speak until she has mastered her emotions. His voice is much softer now, far less commanding. “Now then,” he says gently, “why are you here and where do you come from?”

Astral answers automatically. “I am the deputy director of exhibitions and collections at the Alderaan Museum of Modern Art.” But as the words rattle off her tongue, she realizes the verb is wrong. She amends herself awkwardly. “I mean, I was the deputy director at the Alderaan Museum of Modern Art . . . “

“Alderaan?”

“Yes. Alderaan.”

“I see.” Vanee all but cringes. His face must look like hers did when she first took off Lord Vader’s mask. “My Lady, I am sorry for your many losses,” he tells her gravely. He is very sincere.

And here come the tears again. Astral looks away as her grief once more threatens her composure. 

“I am—”

She cuts him off. “No pity, please.” She can’t talk about this. Not yet. Not even in passing. It’s too soon. Too raw. Too fresh. Too deep.

Vanee nods. He understands immediately. “No pity.”

Those are words he and Lord Vader live by. Suddenly, Astral gets it now too. Because if she starts feeling sorry for herself, she will come undone and melt down. Because her predicament is terribly daunting and all she wants to do is crawl into bed under the covers and cry. But she can’t change any of it. This is her life now. Somehow, she has to pick up the pieces and salvage what she can. She needs to cope. But how?

Her eyes fall upon the front half of Lord Vader’s mask lying on the floor. The mask is part of how he copes, she realizes. No wonder he had a hand to her throat when she tried to remove it without his permission. Suddenly, Astral wishes she too had a mask. It would hide her grief, her uncertainty, and her fear. Then she too could present a blank, neutral expression that keeps everyone guessing about how she really feels.

Astral glances over at the giant wounded man, lying still with his eyes closed. He doesn’t want her pity for the same reason she doesn’t want Vanee’s pity. Because being reminded of all she has lost, even by a well-intentioned stranger, makes that loss fresh again. And part of what she needs to do is to be able to ignore it. Because once they get to the Mustafar System in the Rim tomorrow she will be on her own. Astral will need to make decisions and to move forward, and she can’t do that if she is still paralyzed by the situation.

So she wipes her eyes and refocuses on her final task from her role at the museum. She tells Vanee, “I was aboard to escort a collection of works on loan for an exhibit. They are very valuable paintings. I want to be sure that they are safely returned to their owner.”

“Of course.”

“This is very important to me,” she says in a choked voice as a wayward tear escapes to dribble down. “Their security was entrusted to me personally. I wish to make good on my promise. I keep my word.”

He nods. “Very good. Once we get the Master settled at the castle, I will see to it personally that you and the paintings are looked after. The Sith reward those who serve them. They punish as well, as you saw from Lord Sidious.” Vanee glances down at his frighteningly still Master. “He fried him good this time,” Vanee shakes his head.

“The Sith?” That’s the second time Astral has heard the term. Aren’t the Sith some old archaic warring race from pre-hyperspace times?

“Yes. The Sith,” Vanee confirms. “We are the Sith.”

She is dubious. “You mean the Sith like the old Sith Empire from thousands of years ago?”

“Yes.”

She squints at him. Because are they talking about the same thing? “You mean the Sith like the religious warlords who tried to overthrow the Republic?”

“Yes.”

“The Sith like the ancient enemy of the Jedi Order?”

“Yes. There is a new Sith Empire now. Once more, the Sith rule the galaxy. Just not openly. Stealth is our hallmark,” Vanee says proudly.

“You’re serious?”

“Absolutely. Darth Vader is a Lord of the Sith. The latest in a long line of Dark warriors of the Force.”

“Oh.” Astral isn’t sure she knows what that means. “And you are a S-Sith too??” she asks tentatively, her eyes sweeping over the man’s flowing black robes that remind her of the wizard with the lightning.

“Oh, no,” Vanee chuckles at the very suggestion. “These days, there are always two. No more, no less. A Master and an Apprentice. My Master is the Apprentice.”

“Oh.” Astral’s eyes find Lord Vader on the floor as she sorts through what she has learned. “And that man Lord Sidious who shot lightning from his hands is—“

“Is the reigning Sith Master,” Vanee finishes. “The Master of my Master is better known to the galaxy as the Emperor Sheev Palpatine.”

Oh. Ooooh. So that angry little man in black was the Emperor? Wow. “Right. I had no idea,” she says faintly.

“It is not public knowledge. Keep it to yourself if you wish to live,” Vanee warns. “We are a conspiracy of few.”

“Yes, of course,” Astral yelps quickly. And now, she is very sorry that she ever asked about the Sith. Because this is not information she wants to know. If it’s even true, that is . . . But why would anyone invent a story so preposterous in modern times? And it sort of fits. The Emperor and Lord Vader certainly hate the Jedi. The Jedi were declared enemies of the state decades ago for their role in the assassination attempt on Chancellor Palpatine. Even now, to be Jedi means to be the ultimate fugitive. The Empire had public bounties on their survivors for years. 

Astral’s eyes find Lord Vader again. She’s seeing him anew. He is the Apprentice. The number two to the most powerful man in the universe. That would explain a lot about his mysterious background and his highly placed position. It also explains the Force powers and the red lightsaber he is known for. Apparently, the Emperor has those powers too. He might not reveal them in public, but he uses them on his Apprentice. Astral saw it with her own eyes.

“Darth Vader has the worst job ever, doesn’t he?” she speaks her thoughts aloud.

“Yes, and he doesn’t get to quit. And since he’s a stubborn man, he refuses to die,” Vanee sums it up. 

Astral wrinkles her face. Because this still seems sort of ridiculous, even if it makes some sense. “But I thought the Sith died out thousands of years ago when the Republic defeated their Empire . . .”

“That’s what you and everyone else were told to think. It is a lie.” Vanee now explains, “If you understood the Sith, you would understand what you saw back at the Palace. Not everything is as it appears on the holonet. My Master is much misunderstood.”

Yes, she’s beginning to see that the public knows very little of the truth of Darth Vader. He’s even more of a mystery than people suspect. “Is he like this from the Emperor’s abuse?” she wonders.

“No. A Jedi did this. My Master was burned and maimed long ago in a duel he lost.” Vanee tells her plainly, “I need your help to get him to the castle. The medical staff there will take over when we arrive. Then, you will be free to go once you are debriefed.”

“D-Debriefed?” she asks shakily, her eyes wary. The word sounds ominous.

“Yes.” Vanee does not elaborate. But he smiles at her reassuringly. “We will get you settled someplace, never fear. But for now, you serve Lord Vader. Is that clear?”

“Y-Yes,” she replies. Because is there any other answer to that question?

“Good. This is twice now you have saved him. He won’t forget that.”

“Will he recover?” she worries. 

“He always does. He’ll be back to choking officers in no time. This is a man who once rode atop a TIE fighter into a fight,” Vanee brags.

Astral blinks at this ridiculous mental image.

Her reaction makes Vanee chuckle. “The Sith are not subtle. They love their conflict and their melodrama, as you saw.” He shrugs. “It comes with the territory. Much is expected of those to whom much is given. Power has its price.”

“He’s so powerful and yet so weak,” she observes softly.

Astral has inadvertently spoken out of turn. Vanee gives her a warning look before he brushes the comment off. “Yes, well, we are all full of contradictions, are we not?” The man gestures to the holonet screen. “When that show ends, give him something new to listen to. Anything but the newsfeeds. He needs an escape from all that. Better yet, talk to him. He won’t answer, but he’s listening. The goal is to distract him from his pain and his troubles. So no talk of current events. Read him something maybe.”

“Alright.”

“I need to locate a fuel depot to stop at. Find me in the cockpit if he takes a turn for the worse. And don’t wait. I know he wants to go straight to the castle, but if I need to find a hospital to stabilize him, I will. I don’t want him dying on the way.”

And now, the man on the floor suddenly speaks up, startling Astral. “I’m not going to die,” Lord Vader announces, sounding irritated. 

But Vanee merely grunts. “Good. Because I don’t want to have to serve Lord Sidious,” he informs his boss. “See?” Vanee turns to Astral. “He’s listening.” 

When the pod race show ends, Astral can’t find anything else on the holonet that’s not current events. Heeding Vanee’s wishes that Lord Vader not be reminded of the ongoing galactic crisis, she turns it off. So . . . now what? Her datapad is broken, so she can’t read him anything. The rest of her work bag is full of datafiles with high resolution quality images of art. Those are files to look at, not to read from. They are no help. So, lacking any better option, Astral begins to talk to Lord Vader. 

Searching for a neutral, nonpersonal topic, she tells him about the exhibit she was planning. If nothing else, it will explain why she insists that the paintings onboard must be returned to their owner. Astral begins by rattling on about the exhibit backstory. How she convinced a prominent local foundation to underwrite the costs when at first her boss balked at the proposal. He was wary of the political ramifications of the artist’s subject matter, she explains. But her motivation wasn’t politics, it was art. Finally, she convinced the museum board and her boss that the controversy behind the artist’s topic is only one way to view his works. She also agreed to a collection of essays in the exhibit catalog that present various viewpoints on the historical context. That way, the museum didn’t appear to be taking a specific position.

And maybe she is a little defensive as she argues that the graphic Clone Wars scenes have more than shock value. But she firmly believes that the paintings have amazing emotional resonance. And that is the true measure of success for a work of art, Astral contends. Art has to mean something to a viewer. It has to affect you in some way. The best works affect everyone, whether you have a trained eye or you are simply a tourist passing an afternoon at the museum. These works will have lasting value, she predicts. They have excellent technical composition and powerful thematic emphasis when viewed as a group. But individually, they express so much pure humanity that they will endure. The works just have so much to say. Unpacking them layer by layer makes for an important exhibit.

“Am I boring you? I guess, I’m boring you,” Astral sighs, as she takes a break from her monologue to glance down at the unresponsive Lord Vader. “I get it—art isn’t everyone’s thing. But it’s all I have to talk about. Art is my life. My mother is gone now and I never had a family . . . my job took the place of all that . . .” And, whoa, this is veering into personal territory now, so Astral quickly resumes talk of the exhibit.

“The artist originally came to the attention of the art world for his portraits of clones. He himself is a clone veteran of the wars. Years ago, he painted a whole series of portraits of the men in his combat unit. They all looked the same—they’re clones, you know? But they were distinctively individual as well. Different hairstyles, different expressions to show their personalities, different names they had given themselves. Some had tattoos or earrings. The men were genetic replicas who were as different as they were the same. It was fascinating,” she recalls. “The clones called themselves brothers. Like they were a family. They wanted to belong to each other as a group, even as they needed to express their own uniqueness.”

“Other artists have played with themes of sameness and difference. Other artists have found humanity in non-human subjects like droids. But those portraits were so powerful because the men were absolutely human even though they were created to be the Republic’s counterpart to the droid army. And here was such creativity, such insight . . . all from a man who was created in a Kamino lab to be a killing machine. Imagine that . . . a clone who became a great artist . . . He held a mirror up to himself and his fellow clones and it showed us ourselves . . . ” Astral falters, at a loss for words suddenly. She settles on just the sort of political conclusion her boss had forbidden: “His work shows the fallacy of the Republic’s ideals in practice.”

Lord Vader speaks up now. It startles her. But he’s listening. He’s truly listening. “They were expendable,” he rasps from under the oxygen mask. “The clones were slaves born and bred to fight a war.”

“Yes. Precisely!” she jumps in. “The clones’ experience forces us to ask about the relative value of human life. It shows the complexity of our situation. It reveals the bargains we make with our conscience and the moral compromises that are part of war. The portraits were remarkable,” she gushes. “The museum didn’t host the exhibit—they showed in a Coruscant gallery--but I was a consultant on the team. We hung the portraits all together on one wall to emphasize their collective group, but also to make the visual comparisons easier. We were criticized for the nontraditional presentation, but it worked. The show sold out. It made a big spash. That was eight or nine years ago now . . . ”

Lord Vader speaks again. “The Republic vilified the Separatist war machine. But then it outdid them by creating a human war machine. For all its talk of freedom and equality, the Senate was the galaxy’s largest slaveholder. “

It’s hard to argue with his biting cynicism, Astral thinks. The clone experience is a huge blot on the Republic’s civil rights record. And the irony of having the very moral Jedi Order command the clones just makes it all the worse. 

“Yeah well, the Clone Wars are still touchy stuff,” she concedes. “Over twenty years later, people still have strong opinions. And these newer paintings he made are sort of grim,” she admits. “But art isn’t supposed to be pretty pictures and pretty people---that’s for advertising and the media. Art is the sweet and the sour, the pretty and the ugly . . . it puts all aspects of life in a context that helps us to understand things better . . . Plus, surely twenty years is enough time to give some perspective,“ she argues. 

Again, Lord Vader speaks up. “The Clone Wars were yesterday. I know. I was there.”

“You fought in the Clone Wars?” She’s surprised, but maybe she shouldn’t be.

“I was supposed to be a guardian of peace and justice,” the man rasps. “But I was sent to war and made a general for killing political dissenters. All that war did was expose the Republic’s lies of tolerance.”

“I was a teenager back then,” Astral recalls aloud.

“So was I when it started,” Lord Vader reveals. “We thought we were saving the Republic. But really, we were killing it. It was the right thing to do. It was time for the Republic to end . . . “ 

The effort to talk is exhausting him, she sees. Astral doesn’t know if this distraction is hurting more than it helps. 

“It was such a long time ago,” she murmurs. “So much has changed.”

“It was yesterday,” he asserts again. “And it could be today and tomorrow. If the Rebels have their way, we will have civil war again. The past could become the present,” Lord Vader manages weakly. “The Rebels need to let go of the dream of an idyllic galactic democracy. It didn’t work the first time.” His fading voice falters even further, but Lord Vader’s sentiment is full of resolve. “I refuse to fight the Clone Wars all over again. Enough people died the first time,” he finishes as his voice trails off into a whisper.

“What will happen to the Rebels?”

It’s a question she immediately wishes she hadn’t asked. Because Lord Vader answers wearily, “The same thing that happened to the Separatist leaders and the Jedi . . . I will kill them.” Then he falls silent for a long time. 

Thinking it’s time for a change of pace, Astral searches the holonet again for another pod race. Because that’s enough talk of war and the Rebels. Vanee had said to avoid all that. And, well, it’s depressing. Time for something lighter. Suddenly, she finds boring pod racing very appealing.

Astral thinks Darth Vader has slipped back into deep meditation when abruptly he speaks up yet again. “When I am better, I want to see those paintings,” he tells her.

The comment makes Astral smile.

Vanee appears again now to check on his Master. “Can he have some water? Or some food?” she asks, thinking it might help to sustain him. 

But Vanee shakes his head no. “He will want to go directly into surgery when we arrive. It’s best that way. He’ll just have to suffer through.”

A few hours later, they stop at a busy refueling depot in the Mid Rim. Vanee docks the ship and goes out to arrange for the purchase. But first, he hands Astral a blaster. “Do you know how to use this?” he asks.

“No.”

“Slide the safety lock,” Vanee demonstrates, “and then shoot to kill. Aim for the chest, not the head. There’s less chance you’ll miss.”

“Do I have to?” she asks reluctantly. She’s never been one for violence. Blasters are illegal on Alderaan.

“Yes,” Vanee tells her with a stern look. “Lord Vader has many enemies. You must be his champion in his current situation.”

“But—”

“You serve the Sith,” Vanee reminds her. “For now, at least,” he amends. “Shoot anyone who enters other than me,” the man commands. Then he departs to supervise the refueling.

Luckily, Astral has no cause to use the blaster. The stop at the refueling depot is quick and uneventful. Then, it’s ten more hours and lots more pod racing until they arrive at their destination. 

Finally, the freighter drops out of hyperspace at Mustafar. It turns out to be a volcanic planet. After much wrangling with the local Imperial security forces who initially refuse them entry, the ship proceeds through an enormous planetary shield gate. Then, it descends fast to the surface. The landscape looks very forbidding. There are bits and pieces of cooled lava rock outcroppings here and there, but mostly there are fast flowing red-yellow lava fields as far as the eye can see. The air appears thick with greenish gases that are no doubt poisonous to human lungs. It’s all very daunting, Astral thinks to herself.

Vanee, however, looks relieved. The freighter mounts a high rise. In its wake is revealed a looming black dual spired fortress. It is a dramatic sight perched atop a dammed river of molten rock. “Home, sweet home,” Vanee muses happily from the controls of the freighter. The strange looking fellow smiles ear to ear now. “Everything the Master needs is here,” he assures her.

Except those words turn out to be wrong. Because when the ship settles down on the landing pad and the ramp deploys, there is no one to meet them onboard with a medical capsule as requested.

“Where is everyone? There’s not even a guard at the door. Honestly, I go away a few days and this place falls to ruin . . . Wait here with him,” exasperated Vanee orders. Then he stomps away in a visible huff. “Heads will roll,” he boasts grumpily, “if there is not a good explanation.”

That sentiment provokes a wry comment from Lord Vader. “This is Vanee’s castle,” he rasps without opening his eyes. “I just live in it.”

“Not much longer, Sir . . .” Astral tries to encourage him. He looks very bad to her eyes. The past few hours have been very hard on him, she suspects. 

Vanee returns promptly with a medical capsule and a young man in surgical scrubs. They begin to load Lord Vader onto the transport device while Vanee breaks the bad news. “My Lord, I’m afraid that Lord Sidious has dismissed the staff for the time being. He’s . . . uh . . . particularly angry this time. But the surgical droids are here and so is Dr. Levy. That’s all we need to get you fixed up. Never fear, my Lord, we’ll manage.”

Vanee’s words are upbeat, but even to Astral’s ears his reassurances sound tepid. Clearly, this is a very bad development.

“We will all step up. And perhaps in a few days’ time, Lord Sidious will relent and send back the staff,” Vanee continues hopefully. “But for now, the operating room is prepped and the droids are ready. This is happening now, my Lord.”

“Good,” suffering Lord Vader wheezes. 

They get him onto the floating gurney and inside the castle fortress. It happens in a rush, so Astral only gets a brief impression of Mustafar. Basically, it’s like marching into a blast furnace. The heat is instant and extreme. The air is pungent with sulfurous gases. And everywhere there is a red, Hellish glow of molten rock. 

She gets a similarly brief impression of the castle interior as well. They head fast for an elevator and then exit onto a floor that appears to be a self-contained hospital. It is brightly lit and smells strongly of antiseptic. While Dr. Levy heads to scrub down for the surgery, Vanee takes charge. He starts ordering Astral around, as usual. 

“We need to get the suit off. Start at the boots.” Vanee gestures to Lord Vader’s feet and she gets to work. And that’s how she discovers that all of the man’s limbs are prosthetics. 

Her face must show her dismay because Vanee barks, “Stay focused.”

She nods and sputters, “I’m sorry, I just—"

“The Sith do not whine. And those who serve the Sith do not whine,” Vanee tells her rather pointedly as he pockets his Master’s lightsaber and starts to work removing his shoulder armor. “We do what must be done.”

She nods grimly. It’s more tough love from these very tough people. Vanee and his Master are the furthest thing from the touchy-feely polite art world she’s used to. Her life is full of mostly creative types who sugarcoat bad news and come at topics indirectly. They tend to speak in euphemisms and endless flattery. But she’s a long way from that now, Astral perceives. The Sith are a plain spoken, blunt lot.

“No fainting. No crying. No whining. Understood?”

She gulps. “Got it.”

“Good. Because this is going to get a lot worse before it gets better.” Vanee turns to his Master now. “That goes for you too, my Lord. No fainting. No crying. No whining.”

“You give the best pep talks, Vanee,” Lord Vader groans, his eyes still closed. 

The fierce old retainer’s face softens. He pats at his Master’s shoulder. “It will be alright, my Lord. You’re going to pull through and be back to piss off Lord Sidious in no time.”

“That’s a better pep talk,” Lord Vader replies. “While I’m under, get our man in Intel here. I have an assignment for him.”

“Yes, my Lord.” 

The patient is stripped down to pants and a leather tunic now. Vanee turns to her. “I’ll handle the rest.” He reaches into his robes and produces the blaster he gave her at the fuel depot. “Take this and go stand by the elevator. Normally, this place would be crawling with guards with the Master in this position. But it’s just us now. We must defend him. Those Rebels are emboldened. Kill anyone who tries to enter.”

“Can’t I just stun them?” she protests.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Lord Vader wonders.

Vanee is more emphatic. “Kill them.”

Dubious Astral nods slowly. She turns the heavy weapon over in her hand and realizes that, like it or not, once more she has been swept up into the extreme life of Darth Vader. “I’m not leaving here any time soon, am I?” she surmises softly. Not with just the doctor and Vanee here to care for their ailing Master.

“No, my dear. I’m afraid that you are still needed,” Vanee decrees. “You’re one of us now.”

Astral swallows hard at this dubious distinction that comes with a loaded blaster and a shoot-to-kill order. 

“Welcome to Team Sith,” Lord Vader wheezes. The man has a very dry wit. It’s hard to tell if he’s serious or mocking. Maybe both. 

She wishes them good luck and walks to take up her sentry position at the elevator. But Astral being Astral, she sets the blaster for stun. She has enough problems right now. She refuses to add murder to the list.


	4. chapter 4

At Mustafar Castle, Astral learns way more about medical prosthetics than she ever cared to know. They are fitted in two parts. First, there is the visible artificial limb. In Lord Vader’s case, these are extra heavy, combat grade custom versions. Next, there is the implanted receptor collar that the artificial limb snaps into. This is permanently installed into the body. It contains the interface that is the critical bridge between the artificial limb and the natural limb. Here the replacement nerve synapses of the prosthetic fuse to the body’s own organic nervous system. 

Once the collar is in place, the artificial limb can be removed or adjusted easily and without pain. You simply turn off the nerve receptors at the collar. That enables Lord Vader to continually tinker to improve his prosthetics. Apparently, this is a long habit. Dr. Levy jokes that the man keeps getting taller and taller with his leg upgrades. The collar implant also enables the prosthetics to be removed from time to time for rejuvenating bacta baths. 

But, unfortunately, Lord Sidious’ Force lightning fried the circuitry in both Lord Vader’s prosthetic limbs and all four implanted limb collars. As a result, he has been immobilized. All of the hardware must now be replaced. That necessitates more amputation since the existing flesh and bone the fried collars adhered to must be removed. It’s not a big cut, Dr. Levy explains, but with Lord Vader even a quarter inch matters. It also makes the process that much more complicated. Grossed out Astral has to ask the doctor to omit the technical details as he describes the gory process. She only wants to know the gist.

It requires a day long operation for Lord Vader’s leg implants to be replaced and then a second day long operation for his new arm implants. Now, the new collars must heal and their artificial nerves must grow to fuse with the body. It is a painful, two-week process. Only afterwards can the limb prosthetics be snapped in and Lord Vader’s arduous physical rehabilitation schedule begin. All in all, Dr. Levy predicts at least a two-month recovery to everyday function, maybe longer. Combat readiness may take as long as six months.

It means that for the next few weeks, quadriplegic Darth Vader will continue to be completely helpless and in pain. It puts the man in very bad humor. The grumpy Sith Lord barks at everyone repeatedly. He’s miserable so he’s intent on making everyone else suffer as well. Astral privately suspects that this is mostly about control. The man cannot control his own body, so he opts to exert control over others instead. But whatever the reason for his attitude, it is getting old fast.

This must be what it’s like to be a junior lieutenant on his star destroyer, Dr. Levy sighs. No, Vanee commiserates, this is worse. But watch yourself, Vanee warns his colleague, because he doesn’t like doctors. And that’s when young Dr. Levy reveals to Astral that Lord Vader choked his predecessor to death after an argument. Astral must look very alarmed because Vanee quickly adds for her benefit that Lord Vader never chokes the nurses. He just fires them. Great . . . just great, Astral thinks. She’s known some high strung, temperamental artists in her day, but they all pale in comparison to this sour, uncomfortable, and incapacitated prima donna Sith Lord. 

Darth Vader can actually be quite charming when he wishes, Vanee claims. But neither Astral nor Dr. Levy believes it. 

His favorite verb is ‘fail’ as in ‘you have failed me for the last time.’ It’s a line Lord Vader sneers to Vanee every other day, it seems. His favorite pronoun is ‘you.’ It starts every accusatory criticism. He growls ‘you disappoint me’ to faithful Vanee with regularity. ‘You are as clumsy as you are stupid’ he sneers about flustered Astral when she drops the bacta salve. ‘You're holding me back’ he snaps at the mercilessly harassed Dr. Levy. And that’s just the beginning of his casual insults and continual complaints. Truly, the man is a dismissive, sarcastic, petulant, and abusive bully. 

And yet, Vanee and Dr. Levy each seem to genuinely adore him. ‘That’s the Master being the Master’ Astral hears repeatedly. The exculpatory line that usually follows is ‘he’s a complicated guy’ or ‘it’s a bad day.’ It’s as though Vanee and Dr. Levy feel so sorry for Lord Vader that they will tolerate—and excuse—any behavior from him. They tiptoe around his fragile ego and hurt psyche at the expense of their own. 

But maybe when you are as powerful and important as Lord Vader is, you can push people away and expect them to come back. Maybe even command them to come back. Still, to her that seems like a churlish way to accept help. And, it strikes Astral as inconsistent with the man who had looked so vulnerable and fearful when she removed his mask. Is this caustic jerk boss Darth Vader getting his mojo back? If so, she prefers the prior version. 

No one has ever spoken to her the way Lord Vader does. No one else ever will, she decides. No reward is worth this. When she’s done here, she’s going to get as far as possible away from this Sith. 

But in the meantime, she is one of three round-the-clock caretakers for the invalid, incapacitated Darth Vader. Today it falls to Astral to clean the surgery sites where the prosthetics junction with the body. Truth be told, it’s not her favorite task. The fresh wounds weep blood and fluid. There are still icky surgical drains sticking out of both legs. Moreover, just generally Astral is uncomfortable with the mutilations the prosthetics will remedy. Because basically, she is cleaning bloody stumps. Honestly, she has a very hard time with this twice-a-day task. Her gloved hands tremble as she dabs more bacta salve on with gauze tipped swabs, all the while trying not to look too closely. There’s a very real risk that she might lose her lunch.

Lord Vader is irritated by her squeamishness. “Vanee!” he hollers from beneath his oxygen mask. 

Here at home Lord Vader does not wear the full helmet, only a small respirator that covers his mouth and nose. Apparently, he has some experimental hyperbaric chamber on his ship and at his Coruscant palace where he can breathe without assistance for long periods of time. But on Mustafar, he needs a respirator. The scarred, bald man with the breathing mask that looks like a muzzle makes for a rather bizarre sight. But Astral has gotten used to that part at least. She tends to look completely past his facial injuries now. Astral mostly sees those very expressive yellow eyes that Dr. Levy tells her are the mark of the Force. And right now, those eyes are irate and the brow above them is lowered. 

“Vanee!” Lord Vader twists in his seat to growl back over his shoulder.

“I can do this,” Astral mutters. “Now, hold still, my Lord. That’s not helping.”

Ignoring her, he hollers a third time. “Vanee!” 

“Yes, my Lord.” The dutiful manservant immediately appears. The guy is always hovering within earshot, she’s noticed. Honestly, he and Darth Vader are like an old married couple some times. Lord Vader orders Vanee around, and Vanee nags him back in return. And for as deferential as Vanee purports to be, he is very much in charge, she’s noticed. 

“What is thy bidding, my Master?” Vanee solicits with the default formality he uses with Lord Vader alone.

The patient nods to her dismissively and hisses, “She is relieved from duty.”

That would be fine with Astral except she knows that Dr. Levy is getting some much-needed sleep after being awake for three days straight. Vanee has been on guard duty while trying to arrange for a supply delivery. That just leaves her for this task. “Hold still, my Lord,” she chides him again. “I can do this. I’m almost done.”

“Vanee, look at her.” Lord Vader gestures with his right stump. It makes him wince, and that makes him angrier. “She’s shaking and about to cry—make her stop.” He is exasperated. 

Vanee turns to admonish her sternly. “There is no crying at the castle.”

Yes, yes, she knows. No crying, no whining, no fainting. No pity, no compassion, and no politeness either, apparently. They’ve been over this before. She knows the drill. The cult of personality workplace of Mustafar Castle is all about manly stoicism and biting one-liners. 

“Look, I’m doing the best that I can. I’m not a nurse. I’m not a Stormtrooper either,” Astral adds, thinking of her now daily stints on guard duty. “I’m an art historian.” Nothing in her life up until now has prepared her for this thankless task and this unappreciative patient.

“Take over, Vanee,” Lord Vader orders brusquely. “She is useless.”

Vanee sees her indignant expression and appeals, “Master, allow Astral to adjust to the situation. This is far from an ideal arrangement for all of us.” Then, he solicits softly, “Is it very bad today?”

“I can handle it.”

“Tomorrow will be better,” Vanee says with more hope than confidence.

Lord Vader just scowls. “Next time, this is your job,” he orders to Vanee. “I will not tolerate more of her incompetence.”

Astral grits her teeth. “My Lord, sir, you are a very bad patient,” she boldly informs him.

“Oh, exceedingly,” overworked Vanee agrees.

“Go away, both of you!” Lord Vader wheezes. And that ends that.

Since everyone now fully expects Astral to remain for at least a few months, Vanee shows her to an empty bedroom on the ground floor. It is the only empty bedroom in the entire castle she learns. Lord Vader sometimes has visitors, but he does not entertain guests overnight, Vanee explains. Mustafar is his personal retreat, unlike the more public palace on Coruscant. Here at Mustafar, the staff in residence lives belowstairs and the men on the security detail arrive in shifts from the shieldgate barracks in orbit. I’m afraid that both options are full up, Vanee apologizes. And since he hopes to have his full castle staff back any day now, he feels uncomfortable giving away anyone’s private quarters. Hence, Astral merits this special exception.

With that intro, Vanee opens the door to a beautifully simple bedroom. He ushers Astral in and says a little too casually, “When the castle was built, the Master had hopes that Lady Vader would return. This was to be her room.”

Wait—what? “This is his wife’s room? He has a wife?” She turns a questioning eye on Vanee. It hadn’t even occurred to Astral that Darth Vader might have a wife. But of course, he has a wife. Don’t all powerful men have wives and families? Sometimes, multiple wives and multiple families as they keep trading up for younger versions of the Missus.

Vanee declines to elaborate. He gestures to a closed door. “That door leads to the Master’s chambers. It is locked and he will be in the infirmary for several weeks most likely. He will not bother you.”

That’s not her concern. Lord Vader is in no shape for making romantic overtures, even if he had the inclination, which Astral doubts. “But what if she should—“

“She will not return.” Tired Vanee meets her eyes steadily. “Astral, Lady Vader has been dead twenty years. My Master hoped very much to bring her back. But he has since abandoned his efforts.”

“Oh.” Astral is not following. “Bring her back?” she asks.

Vanee rephrases it. “To resurrect her in the Force.”

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Astral reacts. 

“Few can. And not Lord Vader, alas. It is a sore spot. Do not mention it.”

“Yes, of course.”

“We do not speak of Lady Vader here at the castle.”

“Yes, of course.” She looks around with appreciation. “This room is very beautiful,” Astral admires their setting. 

“Yes, it is,” Vanee agrees. “I thought it appropriate under the circumstances. Plus, it’s the only room on the main floors that has a mirror. I knew a lady would appreciate a mirror.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

When Vanee leaves, Astral begins poking around the room. It has a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the castle’s lava waterfall feature. It is an imposing view. Gushing, bubbling, boiling hot magma continually sprays in dramatic displays. It is violently beautiful. And strangely hypnotic to watch, too. Still, why would anyone want to live here, Astral wonders? Desolate, dangerous Mustafar seems like a bizarre choice for a home.

The extreme nature of the bedroom’s exterior contrasts sharply with the quiet elegance of the all-white decor. It is feminine without being fussy. Demure without being sweet. Astral’s discerning eye decides that it is exquisitely tasteful. The room is perfectly proportioned and appointed.

It is also completely blank. There are no pictures on the wall and no knickknacks on the bedside table. There’s no toothbrush in the bathroom or hair brush in a drawer. It’s more akin to a well-appointed luxury hotel room awaiting its next occupant than it is to a private bedroom in a personal home. And, actually, that makes the situation better, Astral decides. This might feel weird otherwise. 

She decides to take a much-needed shower. But first, Astral unpacks her overnight bag she took for her trip on the freighter. She’s in search of fresh clothes. Time to hang up the few things she has with her so the wrinkles will fall out. So, Astral opens the closet. And that’s where she finds the personal effects of Lady Vader. 

The expansive closet is full to bursting. Lord Vader’s wife must have been a clothes horse. And such clothes! Astral can’t stop herself from looking. The styles are dated, of course. But they are also exceedingly formal and fussy even for their time. With ornate details, heavy fabrics, long tight sleeves, and stiff collars. They are uniformly expensive, too. Some of them even look to be ultra-pricey bespoke couture selections. Lady Vader lived well, Astral sees. And wow, did she like pearl trims and ombre fabrics. And headgear. This is a woman who appreciated a hat and a hair ornament, apparently. And that seems sort of fitting since her husband wears a helmet.

She must have been a tiny woman. Holding up a dress, Astral thinks Lady Vader must have been at least five inches shorter than herself, and very petite in her build. She and Lord Vader must have made a striking couple, Astral imagines. With him so tall and her so small. Were they opposites in other ways, Astral wonders? Suddenly feeling like an interloper, she replaces the dress and withdraws from the closet. She’ll fold her things and place them in the empty drawers rather than disturb Lady Vader’s possessions. Somehow, it feels inappropriate to intermingle her own items with those of the late lady of the castle. 

Why does Lord Vader keep her clothes still? Probably because he cannot bear to part with them because it had hurt so much to part with her, Astral theorizes. How much had Lord Vader loved his wife that he tried to resurrect her? 

This peek into Darth Vader’s secret past feels like the moment when Astral first removed his mask. Like an involuntary revelation of the private man. The tall, swaggering masked enforcer with the booming voice and the brusque demeanor is a public persona for the holonet. It’s one aspect of Lord Vader. But this is yet another. This is the private grief of a bereft widower. This is evidence of a man who has suffered more than just physically. No crying at the castle? Looking at the neatly arranged dresses of long dead Lady Vader, Astral thinks there has been plenty of crying here. 

The riddle of cranky Lord Vader just became deeper. No wonder he’s such a jerk, Astral decides. He’s a lonely, disfigured recluse with a stressful job and a sadist boss. Small wonder the guy is so miserable. But does he have to make everyone else miserable too?

All the fuss over grumpy Lord Vader’s many needs keeps Astral busy. If she’s not assisting with his care or taking her turn on sentry duty with the blaster at the front door, she’s washing the never-ending supply of bloody sheets, doing light housekeeping, making a meal, or performing small tasks for Vanee or Dr. Levy. It keeps her going. Otherwise, Astral fears, she might fall to pieces. There are times in life when it’s good to have something to focus on other than your own problems, she knows. In some ways, this sojourn at Mustafar Castle is exactly what she needs to escape the tragedy of Alderaan and her worries for her own future. Time seems to stop here while her life revolves around Lord Vader’s recovery. 

The next day, the task of cleaning his surgical wounds inadvertently falls to Astral yet again. Lord Vader is particularly unenthusiastic for her help this time around. Perturbed a bit herself, she suggests, “My Lord, why don’t you just take a painkiller? It might take the edge off.” And then, he might be tolerable.

He dismisses the thought. “Pain is power,” Lord Vader sniffs.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that my suffering has a useful purpose. I use pain to remind me of hate. That fuels my power. Emotions are a source of strength.”

“Oh.” That made no sense to Astral. “Is that a Force thing?” she wonders as she squints at him.

“Yes. Hate is what keeps me going,” he brags. Like it’s a good thing.

But to her ears that sounds so distressing. “I thought that was what hope is for,” she sighs.

It’s the wrong thing to say. Well, actually most of what Astral says seems to rub this man the wrong way. “Hope?” he scoffs. “There is no hope for me. There is no cure for this body. In time, they will hack enough off that there will be too little left of me to salvage. I’ll be General Grievous before long.” 

And now again, Lord Vader looks scared for a moment like he did when she removed his mask. At the castle, Lord Vader is not the fearsome man in the black cape and shiny helmet, but he still very guarded. He spends much of his time in meditation with his eyes closed. It makes Astral wonder what he is thinking. How he is feeling. But in rare moments like this, his fears are exposed. 

Is this the real man? A man horrified by his current predicament and scared for what he one day might become? He functions at the apex of the Empire, and yet he is brought low by his body’s failings and his tyrant Master. Lord Vader appears to the galaxy as so powerful and yet truthfully, he is very weak. He lives isolated from others by a mask and a suit but nonetheless pushes everyone away. More and more, Astral has come to see how frustrated he is. How afraid. How sad. How humbled. And in fleeting moments like this, his despair is revealed in all its raw misery. This, she thinks, is why Vanee and Dr. Levy serve this man. Because the urge to help him is so compelling. 

Lord Vader’s forlorn expression fades and a fresh torrent of bitterness spews out in its wake. “Hope is for people who can start again. People like you. But there are no do-overs for my situation. I exist and I persist . . . but it’s all on a downhill slope to more pain and less function . . . until someone replaces me . . . ”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Truly, she is. Not that it matters. He ignores the comment as he vents. 

“I see an old Jedi Master in the Force now and then. He died when I was a child. But he’s alive in the Force and he tells me to stay the course. That I have a purpose yet to be fulfilled.”

“You can talk to people in the Force?” she marvels.

“Qui-Gon was the only good Jedi there was,” Lord Vader laments. “Things might have been different had he lived. But he was slain by my predecessor. Maybe he’s right and I have a purpose. But I don’t have hope.” Those soulful yellow eyes now slant to pin her down. They are resentful. “You do, though. And you should use it. What will you do when you’re done here?” Lord Vader demands.

“Return the paintings.”

“Then what?”

“I think I will go to Coruscant,” Astral answers slowly. This is the current plan she has been working on. “I have contacts there and it’s the epicenter of the art world. That’s where the major galleries and auction houses are. I’m hoping to talk my way into a job. Or at least, a couch to sleep on for a while . . . ” Currently, she has no credits. Her bank was vaporized along with her planet, so she has no way to access her savings. That’s a problem because Coruscant is very expensive. 

“Vanee will set you up.”

She nods. “Thank you, my Lord.” She will need the help.

“You can do it.”

It’s the first positive thing Lord Vader has ever said to her. And it’s encouragement she desperately needs to hear. “Do you really think so?” she whispers, betraying her own misgivings now.

“Yes,” he answers. Then, true to form, he gives her his blunt assessment. “You have no choice. That alone is very motivating. Sink or swim,” he decrees.

“Yes,” she sighs. It’s true. He’s right.

She must look discouraged. “If you can put up with me and with this, you can do anything,” Lord Vader concludes.

“I think you’re right,” Astral answers. The words come out a bit tartly. Whoops.

But Lord Vader very unexpectedly laughs. It quickly becomes a wheezing cough.

Vanee comes running. “What’s wrong?” He turns to Astral to demand, “Is he in distress?”

“Stand down,” Lord Vader wheezes between gasps.

Bemused Astral smiles as she answers, “I think he laughed.”

“Nonsense,” Lord Vader growls. He has regained his breath and his bad humor. He turns to his head of household to order, “As soon as I am better, she is fired. Fired and banished to Coruscant with a lot of credits and a place to live. Do you both understand? Pay her off and get rid of her.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she and Vanee dutifully respond in unison.

“Very good. Carry on. Back to work.” There will be no more laughing today.

Still, when you spend a lot of time with someone doing intimate tasks like feeding them, it’s inevitable that some familiarity develops. By a week in, Astral more often than not drops the beseeching honorific ‘my Lord.’ For his part, Darth Vader sometimes blurts out personal observations like ‘you changed your hair,’ when Astral twists her locks back differently than usual one day, telling her ‘that’s an improvement’ in a biting compliment. But she endeavors to keep a professional distance and his nastiness makes things more frosty than friendly. 

Today she finds herself leaning in very close to dab at the wound on the inside of his right arm. “Forgive me,” she says, her nose practically under his, “but it’s a bit harder to get at this one because it’s higher up.” 

“It’s an older injury. I lost my right arm as a kid.”

“There. Got it.” Curious, she pulls back and asks, “Was it an accident?”

“You could say that,” he drawls. She can see the smirking look from behind his respirator. It lifts his cheeks a little. It’s the closest this man gets to a smile. He reveals, “I ran into Count Dooku’s sword.” 

Wow. Really? “THE Count Dooku? The Separatist Jedi Count Dooku?”

“Is there any other? He was Lord Tyrannus then. Another predecessor of mine.” 

“And he chopped off your arm as a kid?“ Astral is aghast.

Lord Vader actually looks a bit sheepish as he shrugs. “Dooku was good with a sword. And I may have been a bit cocksure of myself in those days . . . .”

Now, it’s her turn to smirk. “Has anything changed?” she teases.

Again, it’s the wrong thing to say. He looks away and sighs. “Much has changed since those days.”

Astral instantly regrets her attempt at levity. There’s nothing funny about a childhood amputation. “I’m sorry. That’s a hard way to learn a lesson . . .”

He turns back to her and raises a challenging eyebrow. “Who says I learned anything? Don’t feel too sorry for me. Dooku cut off my arm and I repaid the favor by taking his head.”

That sounds very Sith. “Eye for an eye?” she murmurs.

“No,” he corrects. “Arm for a head.” This time there is a hint of humor behind his strange yellow eyes. 

Art historian Astral can’t relate to the life of violence that Lord Vader leads. But she keeps trying. “At least you got a good story out of it,” she decides. “Not everyone can say they lost their arm to a famous Separatist.”

“I’d rather have the arm than the war story,” Lord Vader grumbles. “Duels are a tradition of the Sith. You die with a sword in your hand. Killed by a Jedi, killed by your replacement, or killed by the Master you failed to supplant.”

“I see. So, it’s kill or be killed?” she asks grimly. 

“Basically,” he agrees. “Power has a pecking order, and many who wish to get on the list.”

Whatever. Astral can’t relate to the lust for power any more than she can relate to the violence. So, she focuses on her task. “This looks better. It is definitely healing fast,” Astral judges. She’s moved on to his left arm now. “Has Dr. Levy seen this today?”

“Yes, yes,” Lord Vader harrumphs. “He poked at it and made it hurt more, like usual.”

“Well, it’s looking good.” Astral now starts peeling off her gloves as she pronounces herself, “Done.” 

“Not yet.” Vanee breezes in holding a tray. “Dinner is served, my Lord,” he says with forced brightness. 

Lord Vader scowls. “More protein gruel?”

“Dr. Levy’s orders,” Vanee reminds him.

“Take it away.”

“Doctor’s orders, my Lord,” Vanee persists. But Astral notices he drops the tray and beats a hasty retreat, leaving Astral to feed the reluctant Sith Lord.

His eyes find the tray and his nose wrinkles beneath the oxygen mask. “Do not attempt to feed that to me,” he growls. And then, just to be sure, he uses the magic Force to topple the bowl of gruel so it spills all over the tray, making a mess. The move is childish, but effective.

Astral crosses her arms and levels him a look. “Do you shoot lightning from your hands too?” she wonders aloud. 

Lord Vader counters her coolly. “I prefer to choke with the Force. It’s a more personal way to kill. And . . . it does not require hands.”

Astral is sorry she asked. She gulps at the implied threat and looks down. “Right. I’ll remember that.” Then belatedly remembering to add his title, she practically yelps, “My Lord!”

He looks annoyed. “Don’t look so scared. I’m not going to kill you, Astral.”

Wait—he knows her name? He has never once said her name. Astral is always ‘you’ or ‘her’ or ‘she.’ Sometimes ‘that woman.’ But never ‘Astral’ until now.

Lord Vader now qualifies his assurance. “You are safe so long as you do not attempt to feed me that pitiful excuse for food.”

She immediately accepts. “It’s a deal.” 

He smirks at her eagerness. “You are safe for now. I won’t kill the hand that feeds me. Although,” he considers, “I might need to kill Levy if he doesn’t take me off this gruel diet soon. Sneak me something from the kitchen?”

She blinks. “You’re serious?”

“Yes. Do it.”

“Okay . . . Like what? There’s not much. Vanee says we missed our grocery supply shipment. Well, all of the supply shipments, I think.”

“So Sheev is starving me into submission now? Like a siege? A siege of protein gruel??” Lord Vader complains. “Such an ignominious end.”

“We’ll all be eating protein gruel soon,” she confirms. And she has to agree that it looks very unappetizing. 

“What are my options? What did you eat today?” he quizzes her. 

“Peanut butter and jelly.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“How are you going to eat that?” 

“You’re going to feed it to me. Same as the gruel.”

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Can you even eat a sandwich?”

He is indignant. “I still have all my teeth.” And if that’s true, that’s probably the only thing Lord Vader has a full set of now.

Astral wavers, “I don’t know. . . Vanee might—“

“I’ll handle him.”

“But—“

“Did I hear my name?” It’s the ever lurking Vanee. He frowns at Astral as he spies the spilled dinner. “What happened?”

“I told you. She’s as clumsy as she is stupid,” Lord Vader answers blithely. 

Fuming Astral says nothing. 

“I’ll get some more.” Weary Vanee collects the tray. 

Lord Vader stops him. “She spilled it. Let her get it.” He turns to her and snarls, “Get to the kitchen.”

Astral takes the cue for the pretext to fetch him a contraband sandwich. 

But Vanee is apparently wise to his Master’s habits. “No, Astral, I will get it. I insist.”

They’re busted. Astral looks to Lord Vader. 

He speaks up. “She will get it. Go on, girl.”

Girl?? She’s forty-four years old. Astral gives the Sith Lord a glare. But she dutifully heads for the door. 

“Gruel and only gruel,” Vanee calls after her in a knowing tone. So yeah, they’re busted. 

Lord Vader knows it too. “Go away, Vanee. You’re ruining my conspiracy.”

His faithful retainer now pins her with a look. “What has he talked you into? Confess.”

She sheepishly comes clean. “Just a sandwich.”

“Don’t listen to him.”

“Vanee—“ his Master warns. 

“Ignore him.”

“That’s hard to do,” Astral points out. “Can’t we just give him a sandwich? What’s the harm?”

“No. Only gruel for two more days.”

“Get me a sandwich,” Lord Vader sounds petulant. 

“See?”

“Ignore him.”

“How?” She cocks her head mutinously at Vanee. “Tell me--which one of those chest buttons is mute?”

Vanee blinks, snorts, and successfully smothers a laugh. 

Lord Vader, however, is not amused. Those yellow eyes fix her with a hard look. They almost seem to glitter. “Don’t make me destroy you,” he growls. It makes her take an involuntary step back.

Bizarrely, Vanee observes this exchange with happy approval. “You’re feeling better,” he beams at his boss. 

“I would feel better with a sandwich,” his Master snaps.

Vanee turns to her to explain, “The hungrier he gets, the better he feels.”

“And the angrier,” Lord Vader adds. 

“See? I told you that you’d be back to your old self,” Vanee declares happily. He relents. “Alright. Get him a sandwich. But don’t tell Dr. Levy.”

Astral heads for the kitchen. She returns with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and waits for Lord Vader to finish giving Vanee instructions about gathering information on some Rebel pilot. “Tell our Intel guy in person,” Lord Vader instructs. “No remote communications. Sheev will be all over this.” 

“Yes, my Lord.” Vanee withdraws. 

Astral now begins tearing small bites of the sandwich to feed them to Lord Vader on a fork. He’s downright happy now. “You keep rescuing me. First from space, then from Sheev, now from gruel.”

That’s the closest the man has come to ‘thank you.’ “Does this mean you will be a little nicer?” It’s a serious question. 

Her patient brushes it off. “The Sith are not nice. And I have a reputation to uphold. Get me another sandwich. More jelly this time.”

“Vanee says you can be charming,” she says softly.

“He said that? He lied. More jelly. Lots more jelly,” Lord Vader orders. 


	5. chapter 5

Vader glares into the darkened room from his hospital bed. It’s nearly dawn, and he still can’t sleep. The new nerves in his right leg are stabbing and shooting pains up his leg. This is normal. As they bond to his body, the artificial synapses misfire a lot. It creates periods of excruciating sensations until the nerves calm down. It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before, but it inhibits sleep. So he drifts in the Force, trying to make peace with his situation. And that gets him brooding . . . again. 

The Chosen One prophecy is where he went wrong, he thinks. It had been a lie, like so much of the Jedi teaching. But he had believed it. Mostly because Qui-Gon had believed it. Enough to make Obi-Wan promise to train him even if it meant defying the High Council.

And, admittedly, it was very beguiling to be judged so special. To be born the savior of the Force. His insecure slave boy self had let it go to his head. It provided a neat answer for everything from his nonexistent father to his anger issues to his tendency towards attachments. Because, of course, the Jedi Chosen One would be tempted by the Dark Side and drawn to passion and emotion. That was the point really—the Chosen One would transcend the limitations of the Jedi/Sith, Dark/Light duality to make things fresh and balanced. And so, from his earliest Padawan days, he had privately decided that the rules did not apply to him. Because why limit himself with rules he was going to make obsolete one day anyway?

The Force evidently did not agree. Maybe his motives weren’t pure enough. Because when he flipped Sith, he did so mostly out of frustration and desperation. Not out of any grand scheme to remake the Force. He went Dark for selfish reasons. Unlike the more noble fallen Jedi like Revan and Dooku, who both went Dark for causes greater than themselves. 

The consequences were harsh and lasting. He’s now Lord Vader, a mediocre Sith with diminished Force powers and a bad attitude. Sure, he’s killed plenty to bolster his Dark Side credentials. But when it comes to things like the Death Star? Well, that’s when his inner conflict and dissatisfaction rears its head. A true Jedi-turned-Sith like Revan would embrace a cataclysmic superweapon. Hell, Revan even used one when he still called himself a Jedi. And Dooku? Well, plans for the Death Star began on his watch as Apprentice. But Darth Vader? Well, he just doesn’t have the stomach for that sort of thing. And try as he might, he can never convince himself otherwise. It’s why he finds himself in this predicament as a failed Jedi and a failed Sith. In the end, he has been a disappointment to everyone, most especially himself. 

Few know it though. He takes pains to cloak his lackluster nature. It’s like his physical weakness—he obscures it the best he can. The galaxy at large believes the lie. He’s Darth Vader, the scary faceless dude in the black suit who chokes people with the Force and swings a red sword. Good thing there are no accomplished Jedi left around to call his bluff and recognize his diminished capacity. At this point, other than Master Yoda in hiding, there are just a few surviving Padawans who were half trained themselves. They wouldn’t know a true connoisseur of the Force if they met one. And they certainly don’t know that he’s the failed Jedi Chosen One, a man who couldn’t save himself or the ones he loved, let alone save the galaxy. 

But Sheev does. 

Sheev knew that his Sith Master Darth Plagueis had created a child in the Force. Conjuring him in a slave woman’s womb for a virgin birth straight out of a fairytale. Sheev was no fool—Sheev recognized immediately that his Master had just created his replacement. So when he surfaced at age ten to thwart the blockade on Naboo, wily Sheev didn’t do the expected easy move of killing his child rival. Instead, Sheev took on his Master—and won. Then Sheev became the reigning Sith and he was groomed from afar for the role of Apprentice. Because if Sheev couldn’t be the Chosen One himself, then he would do the next best thing and command the Chosen One. Because Sheev knew, as did old Darth Plagueis, that he who controls the Chosen One controls the fate of the Force.

But now that his destiny has fizzled, Vader wonders why Sheev lets him live. Is it because Sheev has no replacement waiting in the wings? Is it because Darth Vader is a convenient bad cop fall guy for malcontents to blame? Could it be because his sadist Master relishes inflicting the physical pain that accompanies a recuperation like this? Or could it simply be because Sheev fears the wrath of the Force if he kills the Chosen One? Because that’s why Obi-Wan didn’t finish him on Mustafar. That coward walked away leaving him for dead rather than strike the coup de gras. He didn’t have the courage to kill the Chosen One, even in mercy.

Damn . . . he hates when he gets in these brooding moods. It’s a lot of ‘what ifs’ and regrets. Because when as a mature adult in the prime of your life, you measure yourself against the expectations of youth, it’s not always pretty. No matter who you are, life seldom turns out exactly as planned. You know how you got here. You might even know why you got here. But that doesn’t mean you wanted to be here. Not entirely. Some of that is maturation. The values and ideals of youth inevitably grind down against the responsibilities and compromises of adulthood. Maturity also provides perspective. Many things that seemed to matter a great deal once are no longer priorities. Life changes, you change, and what you seek and what you need change as well. Plus, at a certain point, you must confront your limitations. You have to acknowledge opportunities squandered, paths forgone, and personal failures. Such is the meaning of midlife. 

But is this it? Are there any more chances left? Vader always thought he got his second chance young. Unhappy as a Jedi Knight and fearful to lose Padme, he knelt in the Chancellor’s office to pledge fealty to Sheev. He took on a new identity, slaughtered his former colleagues and friends, and never looked back. Except . . . twenty years in, he can’t stop looking back. 

He sees the past everywhere, especially here at Mustafar. It’s in the lava fields where he fought Obi-Wan and lost. It’s where he argued with Padme and choked her. It’s in the sad face of that Alderaan refugee woman who reminds him of his mother. And also, in the fleeting Force impressions of Qui-Gon Jinn telling him to keep going. Try as he might to move on, Vader feels so trapped by the past. Because in the past is his youthful self he misses. A man of purpose and ideals. A man of power and ambition. Not this broken-down wreck who functions as a glorified administrator and whose Master is biding his time before he replaces him. 

His old self wanted to bring peace, justice, freedom and security to the galaxy. The Empire has accomplished some of that. But the Empire has also accomplished Alderaan. Doomed, tragic Alderaan . . . How did it come to that? When did destroying an entire world become a logical solution? Sheev just keeps playing into the Rebels’ hands with these stunts. Proving himself a tyrant more and more as the years drag on. Yet ironically, until last week, the Empire was the most quiet and peaceful it has ever been. Until Sheev overplayed his hand, the Rebels resisted, and now suddenly they are on the brink of a civil war again. 

This time, Sheev has gone too far. The Force, Vader knows, is about to strike back.

But not with him. He won’t be the agent of change and the champion of the future. He had his chance. He blew it. And now, he’s just a Sith loyalist who the Force will probably judge as harshly as his Master. What a failure he has been as the Chosen One. He was supposed to bring balance to the Force, not lead it into Darkness. Darkness like Alderaan that has no purpose. He’s no Jedi, but still . . . he knows he’s better than this. But he feels trapped in his situation and powerless to influence things. Sheev does what he wants. That’s what being the Master means. 

Is it dawn yet? Almost. He takes days one at a time now. There’s still a long way to go in his recuperation. And, well, this is as close to a vacation as a Sith Lord gets. He should probably enjoy this boredom. So, Vader closes his eyes again, hoping for sleep. Everything feels better with more sleep. He must nod off because it’s a few hours later when he awakens to the sensation of someone approaching in the Force.

“My Lord?”

It’s a soft female voice from the doorway. Here comes Astral, the Alderaan woman whose very presence makes him feel guilty. This sad woman with her severe hair and soft smile reminds him a lot of his mother. And that makes him feel guilty for a completely different set of reasons.

So he scowls at her approach and complains, “Where’s Vanee?”

“Off-world. Since the men at the shieldgate keep refusing our deliveries, Vanee took matters into his own hands,” she explains. “He just left to take the freighter to the supply depot himself. Let’s hope they let him back through when he returns,” she worries.

“He should have sent you to the supply depot.”

“I can’t fly, my Lord.”

It figures. “Can you do anything useful?” he snaps.

“I brought your breakfast,“ she answers. She’s holding a tray with jelly toast and more protein gruel. 

“I guess that’s something,” he grumbles.

Astral sets the tray down and pulls up a chair next to his hospital bed. “Enjoy this because it’s the last piece of bread we have.” She starts feeding him bites in between sips of water and puffs on his respirator. 

“Did Levy see you?”

“No. He’s asleep in the workshop. I think he worked all night on some adjustments to the prosthetics. It looked like he fell asleep at his desk. Today’s the day, right?”

“Yes.” Today, Levy will make the first attempt at installing the arm prosthetics. For some reason, this time his arms have healed faster than his legs. Based on last night’s nerve pain, there are at least several more days before they can attempt to install his artificial legs.

Astral smiles at his progress. “I bet you’re looking forward to getting back your independence.”

“Yes. Exceedingly.” He’s tired of people feeding him food and laying around like an invalid. 

“You’ll be back to your old self again soon,” she cheerleads like it’s her role in Vanee’s absence. “And that could come in handy,” she decides, “because when Vanee returns to throw me in the lava river for sneaking you more food, I will need you to intervene.“

Vader smirks. “You’d probably survive. I did.”

His answer makes her blink. “Is that how you were burned? Here? On Mustafar?“

“Yes. Lava is how I became so pretty.”

“Oh.” She seems at a loss for how to respond to that news. “I see . . .”

He continues. “The poisonous gases were what scorched my lungs.”

That reminds her. “Need a puff?”

He nods yes. She holds his mask up to his face so he can breathe from it, telling him awkwardly, “You know . . . I don’t see the burns much anymore when I look at you.”

He grunts. “It was all you saw when you took my mask off.”

“I know.” She flushes with embarrassment at the memory. “But I’m used to it now.” And by that, she means that she finds his face far less off putting than the rest of him, Vader thinks. But she probably doesn’t realize it. Or if she does, she’s too polite to say so. This woman is very nice. That must be why she reminds him of his mother.

“I was not always damaged.” And why did he say that?

“We’re all damaged,” she observes solemnly in reply. “It just shows on the outside more for some than for others.”

That platitude irritates him. “You’re breaking the ‘no pity’ rule,” he points out testily.

“I was thinking of myself,” she answers.

And that puts him in his place. Now he wishes he had his mask on because he’s sure he is cringing. Try as he might to brush it off, he feels very badly about Alderaan. The mental feel of so much destruction in the Force—of all those minds crying out in terror before they were suddenly silenced—will stick with him forever. The disturbance it created in the Force had been profound. It’s how he knows---well, why he fervently hopes—that the Force will respond against Sheev. 

“That ‘no pity’ rule is wrong,” Astral now contends. Evidently, she’s been stewing about the topic. Because she informs him, “It should be the ‘no self-pity’ rule. Pity should be allowed, my Lord. I don’t want to live in a world without compassion. ‘No pity’ diminishes us all.”

That’s a speech Padme might have given him. She would have done it differently though. In her high-minded tone with that righteous gleam in her eye she always got when she was her most eloquent. Not like this professorial woman who speaks plainly and quietly--sometimes even profoundly--like he remembers his mother speaking. There was never anything insistent about Shmi Skywalker. As a slave, she lacked the ability to insist. But maybe that’s how this refugee woman views the power imbalance between them now. Maybe Astral too fears reprisal for speaking her mind too forcefully. He has been a bit harsh from time to time . . .

She feeds him a few more bites between puffs. Then she casually asks, “So why do you live here if it has such bad memories?”

He shrugs. “No one bothers me.”

She hears the evasion. This woman might be nice, but she’s not stupid. In fact, he tends to think that she is very perceptive in her own quiet way. “Aren’t there any other out-of-the-way planets?” she wonders. “Maybe one a little less . . . molten?”

Vader answers with a half-truth. “I choose to live here because Mustafar has a convergence of the Force. That is very rare and very special. I hoped to use it. But it didn’t work.” Vader doesn’t say for what and she doesn’t ask. And actually, the less said about his decades long obsession with resurrecting Padme, the better. 

The whole truth for why he lives on Mustafar is that building his castle here pleased Sheev. Pain is power on the masochistic Dark Side. And so, it looks very Sith to be ruminating on defeat on the planet where he lost everything. For years now, Vader has made an effort to appear far more interested in reclaiming his former Force glory than he actually is. Privately, he has given up on all that. Doubling down on the Dark Side didn’t make him any more powerful, but it sure made him more miserable. But Sheev doesn’t need to know that.

Astral finishes feeding him the toast. “Sorry there isn’t more. Care for some of this, my Lord?” She offers that horrid gruel again.

“Do I have to?” Wait—that came out wrong. Like a whine.

“No,” she answers. “But Vanee might not come back until tonight at the earliest, so best to fill up on something. We’re down to this and freezer burned ice cream.”

“Oh, alright,” he grumbles. It’s mostly to keep her around a few minutes longer. It’s not that he likes Astral. It’s that he feels so bad about Alderaan. But what’s done is done. There’s no crying over spilt blue milk or blown up planets. But to make amends with the harsh mistress that is the Force and to assuage his own prickly conscience, Vader thinks that perhaps he can help this woman to help herself. It’s not much in the context of billions of lives lost, but it’s something. 

So, he switches topics abruptly. “What’s your dream job?”

“What? Wait--hold on, I spilled.” She wipes some protein gruel off his chin. “I guess I really am clumsy,” she admits sheepishly. Then she shoots him a look. “But I’m not stupid.”

Yes, he knows. That remark may have been a bit much. But he won’t take it back. He’s not the apology type. He just grunts.

“Need another puff?” She offers the respirator.

He ignores her. “You need a goal. Something to work for. What’s your dream job?”

“You need a puff.” She places the respirator on his face so he can inhale. “Better? Better.” 

“Well?” he presses. He’s not letting her avoid this conversation.

Astral thinks a moment as she stirs the thick soup. “Right now, I guess my goals are small. A job and a place to live. I need to find something that pays enough that I can start saving again for retirement--”

“No. Goals should be big,” he corrects her. “So, what’s your dream job?”

“I don’t know.” She muses a moment, “In fine arts, if you’re not an artist, usually you’re either a scholar or a salesman. The scholars teach at universities and curate at museums. That’s mostly writing and lectures . . . critical analysis . . . that sort of thing. The salesmen work at galleries or for auction houses. They appraise and market art. Sometimes they function like agents. They’re always looking for the next big thing, so they go see a lot of emerging artists.”

“That’s it?” Sounds dreadful to him.

“There are some technical types. Restoration and preservation experts. But I’m not that.”

“Anything else?”

“There are a few private consultants. They work for wealthy families and foundations to assemble and curate private collections. Rich guys love to buy art. A lot of them just do it for status. Some approach it as an investment tool. Some even do it as expensive interior design. You know, they buy a new villa on Naboo and they need to fill the walls with something impressive. But there are a few who really do care about art and they want to create a collection that is important.”

She spoons him some more food as she keeps talking. “The best art consultants are very influential. They start trends and that can drive values and influence exhibits. They can amass excellent private collections that are far superior to what a museum can accomplish.”

“Why is that?”

“Resources, mainly,” she answers. “But it also helps that consultants have one constituency to please, unlike a museum that often acquires with a committee.” She shrugs. “It’s just easier to implement one person’s vision.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees. That’s not just true of art, it’s true of everything. “So what is your dream job?” he presses again.

She wavers. “I don’t know . . . I have long thought about jumping out of museum work. But hustling for a gallery is harder than it sounds. It’s often commission based, so it’s not a steady paycheck. Those consultant jobs sound great, but they are very hard to get. Even if you have the introduction, you have to convince your patron that you have the right eye for it.”

“The eye?” Vader isn’t familiar with the term.

“Yes. Art is all about perspective. The perspective of the artist, the perspective of the viewer, the perspective of the critic and the collector . . . It’s all viewed from a certain point of view.”

He grunts. “That’s life.”

“Yes,” she agrees simply. “And art is life. Art is how someone views the world that teaches us something about ourselves. It’s why those clone paintings I like matter.”

“So, what’s your dream job?” he doggedly persists.

“Right now,” she sighs, “anything that pays the bills.”

“No. You’re doing this wrong,” he corrects her again. Her defeatist attitude is annoying him. “When you start over you should re-image who you are.” That’s the point. She should seize this opportunity to start anew. To be more. To be better. If she just does the same old thing as before, she will remain the same old person as before. Doesn’t she realize what an opportunity this is? He himself would love a chance to reinvent his life. 

She, however, rejects this strategy. “Look, that all sounds great, but I’m a pragmatist at heart. I love art. I admire creativity. But I am also a responsible person. I need stability. Once I have that, I can build from there.” She levels him a quelling look. “My Lord, with all due respect, I don’t need a pep talk on ‘leaning in’ and ‘failing up’ or whatever career coaching concept you have in mind. I have been looking after myself for a long time.” 

She’s telling him to mind his own business, but he ignores it. And is it her grief that’s holding her back? He’s curious, so he asks, “Who did you lose on Alderaan?” He’s be wondering about that.

“I lost everyone. My friends. My colleagues.” She looks down and away, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. 

“So, you didn’t have a family?”

“My mother died about five years ago. It was one of those cancers they still haven’t found a cure for. My father hasn’t been a part of my life since I was young. And, like everyone in the Core, I’m an only child with no siblings. So . . . it was just me.”

“No husband?”

“I’m divorced.”

“No boyfriend?”

“No.”

And that sort of surprises him. Astral is not unattractive even with the severe hair and minimalist clothes. Sure, she’s not the refined beauty that Padme was, but she’s far from ugly. Astral has regular patrician features that match her crisp patrician accent. That’s the first impression she gives: educated. Like she reads a lot and thinks a lot and socializes with people who do the same. Probably at university dinners and art openings where the intelligentsia try to impress one another. 

Her face is sort of bland unless she’s smiling, he’s noticed. She’s very pretty when she smiles. His mother was a woman like that, he remembers. Shmi Skywalker was average looking until she smiled. Then, her careworn, tired face was beautiful. It was more who she was than how she looked that made her stand out. But even as a child, he remembers that men noticed her. 

Maybe Astral is newly single, and that explains it. So he asks, “How long were you married?”

“Not long. Three years maybe. It was a long time ago. I was very young.” She sighs ruefully. “Young and stupid and in love . . .” 

He nods and meets her eyes. “I recall the feeling. I was married young once too.”

“I know. I’m in her room,” Astral volunteers.

What? His eyes narrow. “Who put you there?” he hisses.

“Vanee.”

“He should not have done that.” Vanee knew better than to do that.

Astral looks embarrassed at his quick reaction. She instantly offers, “I can move.”

“No, don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

She sees right through his denial. “It does matter,” she counters softly.

“It shouldn’t matter,” he sighs out the truth. Padme is gone and she’s never coming back. And he has accepted that. Truly, he has. He is alone and he will always be alone now. And really, nothing has changed. He’s been alone for decades now.

If Padme did come back, she’d find him a monster. Maimed and burned and scarred all over. She always said she didn’t mind his mechanical right arm, but he learned quickly to only touch her with the glove on. She never got used to the sight or the feel of his prosthetic. And if she couldn’t handle that, there’s no way she could desire him now. His days of romance and passion were over the day she left him. And maybe, that’s just as well.

Padme would think him a monster on the inside now too. Judging him a man who sold his soul for power all in furtherance of a brutal dictator who destroys planets and kills his own people. She’d be right in a way, he sees. But wrong in others. His wife never could see the shortcomings of the Republic she served. Like all lawmakers, she valued process as much as results. And she would be unwilling to compromise process even if it yielded a better outcome. His wife had remained committed to democracy even as it failed spectacularly. In the end, she was more loyal to her politics than to him. And that realization hurt deeply. 

This is a bitter reverie. He knows better than to let his thoughts wander this direction. So Vader pulls himself back to the present. He can tell from Astral’s troubled face that for her too this is a touchy subject. But his curiosity is piqued and now he wants to know more about this woman’s personal past. “Tell me about your husband,” he commands. 

“There’s nothing to tell. He cheated on me and we divorced. He had a different view of the commitment than I did.”

“He betrayed you?”

“He didn’t see it that way. He said it was just a physical thing.”

“Was it?”

“My Lord!” she objects to his nosiness. She shoots him a reproving look and tries to end the conversation. “Look, the marriage was a mistake and I regret it. But I learned from it.” 

“What did you learn?” he persists. Because his own failed marriage has left him with more questions than answers. 

Astral looks very uncomfortable now. 

“What did you learn?” he demands again.

She takes her time before she responds. It’s a non-answer, really. But still, her few words speak volumes about her own experience. “I will never love again,” she tells him. 

He nods and meets her eyes steadily over his respirator. He has his mask off and his scars—visible and invisible—are on full display. “Neither will I.” They learned the same lesson, it seems.

“I moved on long ago,” she claims. “I don't need that in my life any longer. I have my work. It’s more than enough. I am very busy--”

“I understand.”

“—I mean, I was very busy . . . I don’t really know why we’re talking about this . . . It’s not relevant to my current life.” But despite that protest, Vader senses that Astral is far less indifferent than she pretends, for she is flustered by the topic. Made defensive. “It was long ago. I was a different person back then.”

“So was I.”

“I have—I had—a great life. I am very successful.”

“Same here,” he purports. 

“So why don’t people understand that? Why do they always want to fix me up with some divorcee?” she vents. “It’s fine to be single. And a woman doesn’t need kids to be fulfilled. You don’t need to have a conventional life to be happy,” she maintains. “I’m not missing out, I’m just living differently.”

He agrees, telling her the Jedi dogma he learned as a child but never could internalize himself, “Attachments are a choice.” They aren’t mandatory. Well, they were for him back then. Ironically, he was oversexed as a Jedi, but he’s celibate as a Sith. Go figure. 

“Was there ever anyone else?” he asks. 

“Not really. A few sporadic dates now and then, but nothing meaningful. You get to a point in life when most people are coupled up. Suddenly, you’re the only single woman in the room. You stop meeting people the usual way then. And then it’s pretty much holonet dating. That’s awful. I quit that quickly. Very quickly,” she shudders.

“So how long have you been alone?”

She bristles at that word. She doesn’t like that word. But he doesn’t retract it. He’s looking to her for an answer, so she fesses up. “It’s been fourteen years now.” She flushes with embarrassment at this information. Yes, she is far less content with her single status than she purports. 

She turns the tables now. “How about you? How long have you been alone?”

“About twenty years,” he answers glumly. Then he volunteers information that is dangerous. “I have two kids. I think. I’m not sure. My wife left me when she was pregnant with twins. She died very soon afterwards.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nods. “Me too. She wasn’t pregnant when she died. The children were born. I know that much.”

“So they’re missing?”

“They were taken. Hidden from me most likely.”

“Hidden?” she echoes in confusion

“Or stolen, depending on how you view it.”

“Why?”

“The Jedi wouldn’t want me to have them. The Jedi fear the power of the Sith.”

“But there are no more Jedi.”

He reveals the truth. “There are still Jedi. Not many. But the few that remain are the ones who count.”

“Oh. I didn’t know—“

“No one knows any of this.” He’s not even sure why he is telling her this. But he rushes headlong into more disclosure. Because once you start sharing secrets—even with a stranger--it can be hard to stop. “If Sheev knew my children lived to be born, he would be scouring the galaxy for them now. So, it’s probably best that they remain safely anonymous. This way, they will get to live their own lives.” Free of the taint that is their notorious father.

“Don’t you want to find them?” Astral asks. “They’re your kin.”

“I can’t search for them without attracting attention. Then Sheev would learn of them. Astral, if my Master found my son, the boy would be in great danger.”

“Why?”

“Because the Force can be strongly hereditary. Meaning my children might have my Force.”

She’s not following because she knows nothing about the Force. Astral probably thinks this is about a sentimental family reunion of long-lost relatives. It’s not. It’s about power. Any son strong with the Force is a potential threat. Maybe even a daughter, too. Vader remembers Ventress being quite formidable even if she never quite fit into the boys’ club hierarchy of the Sith. So, assuming both his twins lived, that’s two chances Sheev has to manipulate and control him with his own offspring. And that’s a lose-lose predicament for the Skywalkers, Vader thinks.

“Sheev won’t let my son live unless he becomes a Sith. My Master would want to trade up to my son for his Apprentice. And then, he would have my job and my life,” Vader sighs.

“And you?”

“There is only one Apprentice. He’d make my son kill me for the position.”

“That’s terrible!” Astral recoils. 

That’s the Dark Side. “It’s how the Sith endure. Power is a high stakes game. You must play to win. I lost my children for it, but that’s probably for the best for all of us.” Best to let sleeping dogs lie. Because what would he say to those children if he found them? They’re grown now, anyway. So what’s the point of appearing one day to open up all kinds of thorny issues when he announces ‘I am your father’ to some unsuspecting young person? The kindest thing to do is to let them remain anonymous. It protects them . . . it also protects him.

“I’m sorry,” Astral blinks at him. “I’m very, very sorry.” 

Yeah, he’s sorry, too.

And yet again now, he knows his emotions are showing. He’s used to the mask so he’s never developed a decent poker face. He’s never needed to. Only Vanee and a select few ever see him without the mask. Until this woman . . . that is.

She wisely changes the topic, asking, “What about you? Was there ever anyone else after your wife died?”

“No. Never.” And, it’s not like there have been any opportunities, but still . . . there is a principle at work. He refused to seek out opportunities. “It would have felt like betrayal,” Vader explains. “She betrayed me but I would not betray her. I meant my vows.”

“Yeah . . . I did too,” Astral nods sadly.

“This isn’t how things were supposed to be,” he laments, unable to stop himself. Where Padme is concerned, he has very little emotional self-control. It’s how he ended up choking her. And that memory makes him wince. “We were going to rule the galaxy together,” he recalls wistfully.

Astral’s goals were smaller. “I just wanted us to be happy . . .” And just look at her crestfallen face. Yes, this Alderaan refugee woman knows what it’s like to have your heart broken. “Oooh,” she frets and wails, raising a hand to her temple. “Why are we talking about this?”

It’s a good question. But he shrugs. “Because I don’t know anything about art and you know nothing about pod racing. There’s nothing else to talk about.”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she worries. Then she looks to him indignantly. “You certainly shouldn’t be telling me any of this,” she accuses, scrunching up her face. “Why are you telling me this?”

Vader levels with her. “Astral, you know all sort of secrets now, whether you realize it or not. And . . . you’ve seen me without the mask.”

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve seen you naked.”

“Naked??” he chokes. What the Hell?

“Well, not fully naked,” she immediately backtracks. “Not THAT naked. Just without the suit,” she yelps, adding, “That came out wrong . . . er . . . very wrong . . . ”

It better have come out wrong, or he’s going to choke Vanee if he ever returns with supplies. How humiliating it is to be so dependent on others. Vader can’t wait to get his new prosthetics. Feeling especially grumpy now, he breaks her ‘no self-pity’ rule. “I’m a pathetic wreck.”

“These days, so am I,” Astral commiserates. 

He objects. “No, you’re not. You’re beautiful.” Beautiful like his mother was beautiful. Mostly on the inside, but in fleeting glimpses on the outside as well. Shmi Skywalker had been a damsel in distress if there ever was one, a woman ill-treated by the universe in general. Sort of like this unlucky woman, only on a far more extreme scale. Still, even back in the days when he was a bonafide Jedi hero, he couldn’t save his mother. Like he couldn’t save Padme. But maybe as a broken down Sith villain, he can do something to save Astral. 

“Beautiful?” she echoes. Then she immediately objects, “You’re lying.” But he notices her blush and faint smile. 

“The Sith never lie. We deceive,” he informs her.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes.” And seeing as though they are exchanging all sorts of inappropriate, nonpublic information, Vader needs to get something off his chest. He looks his reluctant nurse in the eye and reveals, “Astral, you should know that the Rebels did not destroy your planet. The Empire did.”

“The Emp---whaaat? Why?” she sputters. “Was it an accident?”

Hardly. “It was intentional. The battle station that the Rebels exploded was designed to be a planet killer. We used it to destroy Alderaan as a test fire.”

“A test fire?? But why? Alderaan is peaceful—we have no weapons—“

“It was a convenient, very visible target to demonstrate the destructive power of the station. Had the station not been destroyed, Sheev would be publicly proclaiming the deed now. Because no systems would dare oppose the Emperor after the fate of Alderaan.”

“I can’t believe it,” she whispers.

“Believe it. Since the station is gone and the strategic value of destroying your world has been lost, it’s easiest to blame Alderaan on the Rebels.”

“Why???” She looks dismayed. Disillusioned. Like she should. Because this woman is a loyal subject of the Empire who believes the steady diet of fake news she is fed. “Why would the Emperor do this?” she demands. She’s moved from confusion to anger now.

Vader doesn’t mince words. “Because Sheev Palpatine is a paranoid tyrant. It took him decades to build that technological terror. And once he built it, he was determined to use it.”

“On his own people?” she grinds out.

“He doesn’t care about the people. He never has. He only cares about power.” And that’s where the younger version of himself had completely misunderstood. He was duped, like the galaxy was duped, into thinking Senator Palpatine was a hero. A reluctant dictator who had his Supreme Chancellor title thrust upon him. A statesman who would rise to the occasion to forge a new Empire to end the chaos of the dying Republic. A scholar of the Force who saw through the lies of the Jedi and knew the Dark Side secrets he needed to save Padme.

Vader had been a fool. It wouldn’t have mattered, of course, had he been able to overthrow his mentor like he planned. But when he lost most of his body and the majority of his Force on the bank of a lava river, he lost that chance. After his defeat by Obi-Wan, he was forever relegated to the Apprentice role.

Twenty years in, flipping Sith hasn’t been all bad. Order has been restored and there is much prosperity, even on worlds that suffered the most in the Clone Wars. Finally, centralized power has streamlined galactic-level government and made it more efficient and responsive. But while he and Sheev overlap on a number of policies regarding the Empire, there remains a significant gap between their mindsets. His Master relishes power for power’s sake. Whereas Vader wants to use power for a purpose. It’s why he and Sheev are fundamentally a mismatch. The feeling is mutual. They keep their distance, communicating remotely for the most part between tense in-person meetings. 

Sitting across from him, distraught Astral has progressed from anger to outrage. “And you think this is o-okay??” she accuses.

“No. But I couldn’t stop him.” Not without open treason, that is. And Alderaan wasn’t worth dying over. But Vader keeps that thought to himself. “Governor Tarkin gave the order to fire the weapon, with Sheev’s approval.” And he himself had done his part to defend the Death Star, which conveniently put him off the space station when it blew. That was no accident. Darth Vader is very well versed in positioning himself ostensibly in support of his Master’s aims, all the while protecting himself. These days, he doesn’t stick his neck out for anyone. His hero days are long gone, and they took his altruism with them. 

“I wish you hadn’t told me,” Astral mumbles through tears. “Why did you tell me?” she wails.

“You deserve the truth,” he answers simply. Because as ridiculous as it sounds, he’s a man who values truth. He might hide his past and hide his face and hide his regrets and conflicted conscience. But still . . . he values truth. There is too little truth in his life for his taste. Well, pretty much his entire life is a lie now. And his life’s work, the Empire, is fast becoming one big lie as well.

“Don’t tell me not to cry!” Astral rages as she sniffs. “Don’t tell me there’s no crying at the castle!”

“I won’t.” There have been many tears here at Mustafar Castle. That’s the meaning of his fortress home. This is a place where he gets to be weak. Where no one sees except a select few that now include Astral. And since she too is on Team Sith, she gets to be weak here too.

He watches as she fumbles with the empty dishes and snatches up the tray. Then she flees the room.


	6. chapter 6

Astral is on guard duty. Sitting glumly in a chair just inside the castle’s main entrance, brooding over the news Lord Vader divulged. She had been sad over the fate of her world. But now . . . she’s mad, too. Because Alderaan was betrayed. Its destruction was friendly fire . . . but it was no accident. Hours later, Astral is still reeling from the knowledge that the Empire which is supposed to protect its star systems has in fact committed mass murder. It comes as a shock. And as crazy and extremist as it sounds, her first inclination is to sympathize with those crazy fringe revolutionaries who follow Senator Mothma from Chandrila. 

She wonders: could they be right? 

It’s a dangerous thought to consider. A seditious crime to speak out loud. And it’s totally out of character. Astral is not a particularly political person. Mostly that’s because Alderaan‘s local system government was stable and effective. Her world was a constitutional matrilineal monarchy, titularly ruled by a succession of queens who accepted wise counsel from, and gave much deference to, a democratically elected legislature. Alderaan’s government was a small scale version of the Republic‘s galactic Senate with its weak executive Chancellor role. And it worked. There were no unhappy radicals to speak of on Alderaan. Certainly not Astral Sidhu.

Her home was a wealthy Core planet with a largely homogeneous human population. That made it a largely content world. Because in societies where people mostly look alike and think alike and have similar experiences and opportunities, there isn't much to bicker about. On Alderaan, there were no Haves and Have Nots. Everyone was a Have to some degree. And that meant that there were few sharp lines of disagreement. Seldom did lawmakers need to make hard choices. People argued over how much to spend on education, not whether to spend on education or some other pressing public need. Quite simply, there was always enough to go around. Sure, Alderaan had its share of social problems—people are people, so there will always be crime and poverty. But it was usually a temporary situation for those involved and not the inter-generational struggle that bedevils many other systems. 

It made Alderaan a model to uphold, a world to admire, and a longtime supporter of the Republic and its successor the Empire. That’s the key part: moderate Alderaan had been loyal. Through all the upheavals of the past decades, her homeworld had remained loyal while other worlds broke off to join the Separatist Confederation. So why not test that planet killing weapon on Geonosis? Or on one of the many other secessionist systems? Why destroy peaceful Alderaan?? What could they have possibly done to merit this treatment???

It is galling. For like so many people she knew, Astral had welcomed the ascension of Sheev Palpatine to Emperor status. Sure, it was akin to a lifetime appointment and that was the antithesis of democracy. But Senator Palpatine was a man elected again and again in free and fair elections to the Senate. And he was elected by his peers to be Chancellor, only reluctantly accepting the dictator role of Supreme Chancellor in a time of crisis. The man wasn’t a power-hungry usurper. He was a known quantity. A trusted public figure. A statesman with a long track record of decisions for the public good.

So when the Republic finally collapsed while the Clones Wars ground to a halt, Astral was happy to see someone of Chancellor Palpatine’s aegis step up to fill the leadership void. She and most everyone else welcomed a strong executive who would restore peace and order to the war-torn galaxy. With Sheev Palpatine at the helm, the fledgling Empire brought back a sense of normalcy, security, and prosperity. Sure, things had changed. But the Empire basically looked and felt a lot like the Republic minus the meddling Jedi who were now banned from public life as enemies of the state. 

Like many of her friends, Astral had no problem with the Emperor outlawing the Jedi Order. She agreed with the Emperor’s call for a bright line separation of church and state. That seemed very reasonable, especially in lieu of the Jedi High Council’s assassination attempt on the Supreme Chancellor. That crime was going too far—the Jedi were taking over. First, they took over the Republic military. Then, they tried to take over the Republic civilian leadership too. If the mysterious Jedi had their way, there would be a ruling class of Force wizards in charge of things. And that seems incompatible with the democracy the Jedi purported to want. 

But now . . . Astral isn’t sure what to think. Because it turns out that Emperor Palpatine is a Force wizard himself. He’s not a Jedi, he’s a Sith. Whatever that means. And so is his second-in-command Darth Vader. Astral doesn’t fully understand the undercurrents at work here, and she’s not normally one to indulge in conspiracy theories. But still . . . if her time at Mustafar has taught her anything, it’s that the leadership of the Empire is not as it seems on the holonet. 

Lord Vader is more figurehead than authority figure, stuck in the Apprentice role that he apparently can’t quit. And the Emperor is paranoid and power mad. If what Lord Vader says is true—and Astral has no reason to doubt him—then the Emperor is truly the tyrant the Rebels claim he is. And that is as big a letdown as it is a revelation. Because the whole galaxy has been counting on Sheev Palpatine to do the right thing for almost thirty years now. Gods, Astral thinks to herself, what other atrocities has that man committed that are blamed on others or hidden from the public view?

As one of a few thousand off-world Alderaan survivors, she is absolutely incensed. But short of signing up for Mon Mothma’s terrorist revolution, Astral has no recourse. She saw what the Emperor did to Lord Vader. Sheev Palpatine is not a man she wishes to oppose. Will he succeed in blaming Alderaan on the Rebels? Only time will tell. But Astral’s no fool—she’s not about to tell anyone the big secret.

She sighs, then dutifully stands to look out the window again. She’s supposed to be watching out for Rebel invaders. But glancing forlornly out at the empty castle landing pad, Astral thinks that if any Rebels show up, she might just join them. It’s not like she has anything to lose at this point. Maybe she’ll mutiny from Team Sith that blows up planets and lies about it.

And who are these Sith really? What do they want? Astral herself knows nothing about the religions of the Force. No one does. Because for as long as anyone can remember, if you were born with the Force then your parents surrendered you to the Jedi. You basically disappeared into the Republic’s state-sponsored religious cult. Astral knows only what she and every other adult over age forty were taught in school: that the Jedi were the guardians of peace and justice in the old Republic.

But they weren’t. Not in modern times, at least. Because in her lifetime, when the Jedi were at the height of their power, the non-elected Knights meddled ceaselessly in everything. In the military, in commerce, and in government. They called themselves 'Keepers of the Peace,' but all they really did was intervene to choose their preferred winner for every conflict. From trade disputes to taxation squabbles, the Jedi had an opinion to voice. And when they felt their voice wasn’t being heeded, they often became insistent. Long before the Clone Wars began, critics argued that the Jedi Order disdained the Senate and bypassed judicial solutions to take matters into their own hands. It was no secret that as the Republic floundered, the Jedi came to hold the Senate in contempt for its corruption and inefficiency. And, well, those were valid criticisms shared by many. But together, the Senate and the courts were the backbone of the Republic. So over the years, the actions of the Jedi Order served to weaken the other branches of government. That meant at the crucial moment when the galaxy needed strong, unified leadership, its institutions failed to resolve the Separatist Crisis. The ensuing war destroyed much of the galaxy for years. Ultimately, it brought down the Republic and completely discredited the Jedi Order.

So, are the Sith any better? Not if they destroy entire planets, Astral decides. In fact, maybe the galaxy would be better off without the Force altogether. Maybe all leaders and government should be secular in their approach. But who knows? Astral has far more questions than she has answers currently. And she certainly doesn’t have all the facts.

And, anyway, where is Vanee? He’s been gone for hours and there’s no sign of the freighter. Astral is getting worried. For Vanee, for her paintings he has onboard the ship he’s flying, and for where her next meal is coming from. So, she abandons her post to find Lord Vader and Dr. Levy in the infirmary.

With a discreet knock, she enters the patient’s room. Darth Vader is seated in his hospital bed, as usual. “My Lord, Vanee still isn’t back,” Astral reports. “He’s not answering his comlink either. I’ve tried three times.”

Lord Vader looks up from the newly installed mechanical right hand he is flexing. “How long has it been?”

“Ten hours. Almost eleven. What do we do?”

“We wait. Vanee can take care of himself. He’s hardly missing in action yet.”

“But, my Lord—“

“Do not underestimate him. He is resourceful.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she backs down reluctantly.

“Oh, hi Astral.” Up comes Dr. Levy from behind. He’s back from the workshop where he spends hour upon hour tinkering at Lord Vader’s direction. Since he began fitting the arm prosthetics on his boss this morning, the doctor has been making adjustments to fine tune them. “Taking a break?” he smiles at her.

She delivers the bad news. “Vanee is not back yet.”

Dr. Levy takes this in stride. “He’ll be back. He promised the boss some cookies.”

Astral squints. “Cookies?” Really?

“Cookies,” the Sith Lord confirms gravely.

“He’s getting me pizza,” young Dr. Levy volunteers. “What did you ask for?”

She’s confused. “Nothing. Was I supposed to ask for something?”

The doctor shrugs. “It’s the only way to get something you like on the grocery list.”

“Oh.” Astral now moves aside to let the doctor through the doorway. He’s carrying Lord Vader’s left arm. It looks like a creepy metal skeleton to her eyes, so her gaze quickly darts away.

“I think I’ve got it Let’s try that again, my Lord,“ the young doctor says cheerily as he approaches to carefully attach the prosthetic limb. With the implant collar Astral used to clean all healed up, there’s nothing gory to see. It’s almost like fitting a new appendage onto an R2 droid. But still, Astral finds she must look away. Lord Vader notices and frowns. And that makes her cringe inwardly.

“Better?” Dr. Levy looks to his patient. 

Lord Vader grunts, then damns his efforts with faint praise. “Better. But still far from good.”

Dr. Levy nods but advises patience and caution. “Sir, it’s too early to refine things too much. We run the risk that when the nerves fully adjust, we will have overcorrected—“

“Yes, I know.”

“My Lord, it’s only been a couple of hours. Keep practicing—“

Lord Vader cuts him off. “I built these hands. Do not lecture me on my own work. Now go adjust the legs the same way,” Lord Vader dismisses him, “or you will waste my time going through this process again in a few days.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the doctor instantly defers. “But perhaps first we should do more rehab work—"

“Astral can help me. Go fix the legs.”

“But I’m on guard duty,” she speaks up.

Lord Vader is unimpressed by this objection. “Can you even shoot?” he demands. Then he looks to her expectantly because apparently that’s not a rhetorical question.

Now, even Dr. Levy turns to look. She’s put on the spot.

“I don’t know . . . ” she answers after a long moment of deliberation. She’s never shot a blaster. Blasters were illegal on Alderaan.

“Let me rephrase that: could you kill?” Lord Vader demands pointedly.

No. Absolutely not. But that’s hardly an acceptable response in this circumstance, so Astral hedges, “I don’t know?” with her tone ending up. It’s very unconvincing, even to her own ears.

“That’s a no,” Lord Vader snarls. “There’s no point in you standing guard if you can’t kill. Your best strategic purpose is to help me with my rehab. Your only chance of living if Sheev lets the Rebels storm this place is if I can use my lightsaber.”

It’s hard to argue with that logic. Astral nods. “Right. Okay. What do I do?”

Dr. Levy hands her a datapad. “These are the exercises. Right arm only for now. Have him do each one until the brink of muscle fatigue. That’s about ten reps generally. Start here on gross motor skills. And don’t let him skip any.” The harassed looking doctor now heads back to the workshop. 

As soon as he’s gone, Lord Vader announces, “Skip the first ten.”

Astral gives him a dubious look. As usual, Darth Vader is a challenging patient who refuses to cooperate. “But, my Lord--“

“Skip the first ten.”

“Okay. Then wave from the elbow please,” she reads the first item.

He demonstrates.

“Does that hurt?”

“Everything hurts,” he snaps back. “Next.” 

“Wave from wrist.”

He complies.

It’s a regal gesture for a queen waving at a parade. “That’s sort of cute,” Astral thinks out loud before she can stop herself.

Darth Vader’s yellow eyes glare at her from over the respirator mask. “I am not cute. Next.”

“Fist.”

“My favorite,” he sneers as he demonstrates, shaking it for emphasis. It looks very Sith.

“Yep, you’re good at that one,” Astral agrees. “Now, point fingers.”

“That’s my Master’s favorite,” sardonic Lord Vader drawls.

“Okay. Wave your fingers.”

He waves his fingers. “Are we done?” he complains.

“It says ‘catch a ball.’ Is there a ball?”

“Over there.” Lord Vader directs her to a counter where she collects a small rubber toy. “Stand farther back. Farther. Good. Now throw it,” he orders.

Astral tosses the ball underhand. Lord Vader catches it easily with his right hand and lobs it right back. He throws fast and right at her head. Astral shrieks and ducks. The ball bounces off the wall behind her and nails her on the backside on the rebound. Astral shrieks again, rubbing the impact spot.

“That is for calling me cute,” smug Darth Vader informs her triumphantly.

“That was very passive aggressive of you,” she retorts. And petty, too.

“I’m not passive aggressive, I’m just plain aggressive,” he corrects her. “Now, try again. Overhand throw this time. I’m not a child,” he complains.

“Only if you promise not to bean me on the throw back,” she grumbles as she bends to retrieve the ball. “We’re playing catch, not playing dodge ball. So play nice, my Lord.”

“I am not nice.” To underscore this point, he plucks the ball from her hand with the magic Force. It sails into his open right palm. Then he throws it right for her nose again. “Head’s up, Astral!” he wheezes gleefully as she leaps out of the way again.

“You’re asking for it,” Astral warns as she retrieves the ball.

“Alright, let me have it,” Lord Vader dares her. “Throw it hard this time.”

With determination, Astral heaves the ball.

“You throw like a girl,” he disdains as he catches it.

She takes no offense. “Does it shock to know I never played sports?”

“Not at all,” he responds dryly as he throws back. She can hear the smirk in his tone. But this time, his throw is a regular toss that she manages to catch. “What were you like as a girl?” he asks.

“I always had my nose in a datapad reading a book.” 

“I could see that. Keep throwing. Keep talking.” 

Yes, she remembers. Talking gets his mind off the pain. So, she tells him, “My mother was a musician. She played in the Royal Philharmonic. Our house was always full of music. So, it was no big stretch for me to study art.”

“You were content?”

“Oh, yes.” Her latest throw goes awry. It sails high over the hospital bed. “Er . . . I meant to do that,” Astral covers sheepishly.

Lord Vader snorts. “Did not.”

“Did too,” she maintains as she retrieves the ball. “How about you? What were you like as a kid?” she asks as they resume the game of catch.

Lord Vader drops a bombshell. “My mother and I were slaves to a Hutt until we were sold to a salvage dealer. I spent my young years working in a junk shop.” 

Wait—what?? “You were a slave?” That can’t be right. “The Republic outlawed—"

“Republic laws meant nothing where we lived. There was no one to enforce them. And we both had detonator collars in our necks. No matter what the law says, that makes you a slave.” 

Astral is horrified. “But how did you escape?"

“I essentially won my freedom with winnings from a bet on a pod race.” 

She blinks at the colorful tale. Lord Vader’s past is getting downright outlandish, she thinks. “You gambled on a pod race?”

He nods. “I won the race too.” 

“Wait—you were a pod racer?” No wonder the man likes pod racing. It’s what liberated him from bondage. “Wow. I never would have guessed. I thought you were a general or something.”

“I was that too. Just later. I still like to fly,” he divulges as again they toss the ball. 

“How did you learn to fly if you were a slave?”

“I taught myself. I built a pod racer out of spare junk and figured I should learn to fly it.” 

“So, you have always been good with mechanics?” she asks, thinking of the customized prosthetics he makes for himself.

“Yes,” Lord Vader confirms. “Mechanics are easy. They’re logical. It’s people who are hard.” 

Yes, that true, Astral thinks to herself. “So . . . how did you become a Sith if you began life as a slave?” This man has risen to great heights from his humble beginnings, she thinks. It has her curious.

“I wanted power,” he explains matter of fact. “It wasn’t enough to be a Jedi. The Jedi only used half of the Force. I wanted to learn it all.”

“So you found a Sith to teach you?”

“The Sith had already found me. I just didn’t know it. They sensed my potential and tempted me with power.”

“Oh.”

“That’s how it works. For over a thousand generations, the Sith have lived in the shadows, usually in pairs. A Master finds an Apprentice. He lures him, trains him, uses him, and then either discards him or dies by his sword. And then the cycle renews itself. Each generation, the Sith kill and replace their own.”

She’s confused. “That’s nothing like the Sith Empire of old, right? They were a whole society of warriors.”

“Yes, until they were largely destroyed by infighting and by the Jedi. To survive, the Sith went underground. I’m the first Lord in thousands of years to live openly as myself. Sheev still likes to hide, but I don’t bother. I might wear a mask, but I own who I am. Finally, the Sith rule the galaxy and we have peace.”

“So what is the Force exactly?” No one has ever really explained this to Astral.

The question makes him wistful. “The Force is what gives a Sith his power It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the universe together. Some people are sensitive to the Force. They can be taught to control the Force, to use it at their command.”

“Like you do?”

“Yes.”

“What does the Force feel like?“ she wonders.

“For you, probably nothing. But for me, the Force is like breathing. It used to be effortless, like second nature. But now, it’s hard.” He gestures to his respirator.

“Because you were hurt?”

“Yes. There’s less of me to sense the Force now. And what I sense is Dark.”

“Dark?” She’s not familiar with the term.

“The Force is a continuum from Light to Dark. The two sides coexist in the universe and in people. How someone in the Light connects with the Force and uses the Force is different from how someone on the Dark Side does. Historically, the Jedi used the Light and the Sith wielded the Dark. But the distinctions are far more blurred than many would like to believe.”

Lord Vader is reflective now. Speaking slowly as he looks away. “We are all a mix of Dark and Light, and the mix can shift over time. When I was younger, I had more Light. But Darkness has overtaken it as I have matured as a Sith. And, these days, I have less Force overall.”

“Does that matter?”

“The Force defaults to balance, in the aggregate and in an individual. When you get too far to one extreme of Dark or Light, the Force calls you back to the center. That’s why occasionally I still feel the call to the Light.”

“Oh.” She’s not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.

“It’s also why I expect the Force will punish Sheev for Alderaan. He went too far.”

Astral nods wholeheartedly. “I hope so.” Call it karma, call it the Force, call it whatever—the universe needs to recoil at the destruction of a planet.

Lord Vader continues: “Balance is why the purest among the Light are drawn to show compassion for those in Darkness. Find any prison or slum and you will find agents of the Light ministering there. Social workers, teachers, the religious, the do-gooders among us. They are compelled to try to help, to forgive humanity's worst examples, to save souls and soothe hurts. It's a fool's errand, for the sins of life persist. But hope springs eternal for those in the Light.” 

“So what does it mean to be Dark?” Astral is struggling to understand these abstract concepts. She knows nothing of the lore of the Force.

“Darkness is the triumph of emotion,” Lord Vader says proudly. “The Dark Side embraces the full range of experience and desires. From love to hate, from anger to sorrow, from pride to shame, from confidence to helplessness. We channel power from our feelings to achieve our ambitions.”

“And what are those?” What do the Sith want exactly?

“I want a safe and secure society. I want peace and order. Astral, my Master pretends to want the same things, but really he just wants to remain in power. All who gain power fear to lose it. And since my Master has all the power, he has the most to lose. Alderaan died for his extreme paranoia.”

“I see.”

He must tell that she’s a bit overwhelmed with information. “Did that make any sense?”

“A little.” Not much. It’s a lot of words she will have to think about. Still, she appreciates the effort. “Thank you for explaining this. It helps me to understand you better.”

Little by little, she is learning who Darth Vader is. Deep within the hard exoskeleton of black armor, metal limbs, and charred flesh lies a man. He is damaged. Kept alive by mechanics and an indomitable will to live that seems impervious to physical pain. The only pain that seems to reach him isn’t the physical kind. For the look in his eye when Astral revealed she is staying in his dead wife’s room had been sharp.

Lord Vader still keeps the faith with the wife who wronged him. Vanee had said he even wanted to resurrect her with the Force. She betrays him and yet he wants her back. She hurts him and yet he loves her still. Astral wonders about the woman who broke Darth Vader’s heart. Because it is clear that he isn’t over her. And that vulnerability resonates with Astral. His blatant loneliness does too. This man appears so tough, so harsh, so brusque. Obnoxious and grizzled. Callous and cynical. And that’s true . . . to a point. Because no man who loves a woman that deeply can truly be cold hearted. 

And that calls to mind their conversation from earlier this morning that had become entirely too revealing for both of them. Lord Vader had started needling her on her career plans and somehow, they had both ended up talking about their failed marriages. Then the news about the truth of Alderaan had superseded everything. But still . . . Astral feels like she should say something about that initial conversation.

“My Lord, I’m sorry if I said anything out of turn this morning. Things became very personal and I know you’re a private man—“

He interrupts her mea culpa. “I was the one prying—“

“—Your private affairs are none of my business.”

“The past—“

“Is the past,” she finishes quickly.

“Yes,” he instantly agrees.

“You are right that I need to make new goals,” she admits to his wisdom. “I need to be focused on the future now.”

“Same here.”

“Great.”

“Good.”

Is he as relieved as Astral feels to say that out loud? To verbally turn the page? Apparently not, because the mention of this morning’s confidences now prompts him to resume their personal conversation right where they had left off. “Do you think you get one true love?” Lord Vader asks as he lobs the ball back at her. It comes out deceptively casually. But there is nothing casual about that question. It’s also a total non-sequitur made all the more bizarre by the man who’s asking it. Because the plaintive subtext is clear. Who knew fearsome Lord Vader was such a closet romantic?

Astral thinks a moment before she throws back. “I hope not.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I want there to be second chances. For those of us who—"

“Screw it up?”

“Yes. And for those of us who lose someone.” She’s thinking of him and his late wife. “Maybe this should be one of my goals. Maybe I should start dating again when I get to Coruscant.” She cocks her head at him. “Know any single, age appropriate human guys with a decent job?”

“Are those the only qualifications?”

“Pretty much,” she admits. She’s not at a point in life where she can be very choosy about these things.

“So you don’t care about how he looks?”

“I just care that he’s a good man.”

“Well, there’s Vanee,” Lord Vader suggests with his yellow eyes looking devilish.

She laughs. “Oh, I think Vanee is taken. He’s pretty much married to you.” 

“You might be right. What’s the next exercise?”

Astral puts down the ball and approaches to consult the datapad. “Handshake.”

“Alright.” 

He holds out his hand, but she hesitates. It’s silly, really. There’s nothing awful about his robot hand. But still . . . she’s reluctant. He sees it, too. 

“It’s just a bunch of steel and wires. It won’t hurt you,” he snaps testily. As always, her squeamishness irritates him. Lord Vader takes it as rejection, she thinks. And that’s not at all how she intends it. The truth is that his injuries provoke far less horror than they do empathy. Astral can’t see his missing hand without want to reflexively grab for her own. Because seeing his missing limb makes her envision herself in the same situation. 

“It won’t hurt you,” he snarls shaking his offered limb at her impatiently.

“I know,” Astral answers in a small voice. 

“Here.” He holds his right hand up, palm facing her. “Just touch it.”

Gingerly, she approaches to match her smaller palm to his. 

“Go on,” he complains and she closes the slight distance between them. When her flesh touches his steel, he grunts his approval. 

His prosthetic hand feels like she remembers from when he was first rescued. Hard and cold. “You’re cold.”

“You’re warm. Soft,” he observes. Gruff as always, he explains, “I wear the gloves so people don’t gawk, but I have much better sensation without them.”

“So, you feel pain in these new parts?”

“Yes. I could stick my hand in fire and it wouldn’t burn. But it would still hurt.”

“Oh,” she breathes out. “Well, I guess you are one tough guy . . . ” 

He must like that comment because he folds his fake fingers down around hers. Their hands are clasped now. It’s totally chaste. It’s even probably one of his rehabilitation movements. But still . . . something about this moment feels important in a personal way. Like a connection.

Their eyes meet and he actually smiles at her. She can tell because his cheeks lift a little behind the mask he wears. That too feels important. Astral smiles back. 

“Try the handshake,” he urges now. So, she disentangles her hand and limply shakes his.

“That’s terrible. You can do better than that.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Shake my hand like you’re some gallery owner and we just made a deal for a big piece of art.”

His premise makes her smile, so she shakes his hand for real.

“Better,” he grunts. “But far from ideal.”

“That looks like progress,” Dr. Levy observes as he catches them. He has returned with a question about something technical on the prosthetic leg adjustments. It’s clear that Lord Vader would much prefer to be doing the tinkering himself, but he doesn’t have the fine motor skills in his new hands yet for the work. The man is a control freak over his customized artificial limbs. Given how dependent he is upon them, Astral can understand.

The sound of ion engines interrupts them. Astral runs to the window. She spies the familiar freighter settling down on the landing pad. “Vanee!” This comes out as a happy squeal. She is very relieved.

“I hope he got my pizza.” Dr. Levy remarks as he comes up behind her shoulder.

“And look! There’s another ship too.” An official looking Imperial shuttle settles down beside the freighter.

The doctor swears under his breath and looks to Lord Vader. “Milo is with him.”

“Who?” Astral turns back to the window to find Vanee disembarking from the freighter just as a man in a black uniform marches down the shuttle ramp to meet him.

“Milo is Lord Sidious’ man,” the doctor explains for her benefit.

“Maybe,” Lord Vader scowls.

“He was Lord Plagueis’ man before that,” Dr. Levy explains. “So, no one trusts him.”

Astral is lost in his meaning. “And Lord Plagueis is??“

“Lord Sidious’ dead master.”

Darth Vader grunts at the doctor’s answer, but says nothing.

Less than a minute later, Vanee and the unwelcome guest present themselves to the Lord of the castle. In person, the Milo guy is a slight, thin older gentleman with thinning hair and sharp eyes. He’s dressed in a neat and obviously expensive black uniform that looks less military and more ecclesiastical somehow. The man must be in the inner circle of the Sith, Astral thinks, because he betrays no surprise or nervousness to see Darth Vader without the helmet and suit.

Milo is not cordially received. “Who let you in?” Darth Vader does not bother to hide his displeasure.

The newcomer bows low like a servant. “Lord Vader.”

The Sith turns to her. “Astral, kill him,” he orders offhand.

She blinks and takes an uncertain step back. “Uhhh . . . “

“Some sentry guard you are,” Lord Vader gripes his irritation.

“But he’s not a Rebel,” Astral protests. The guy arrived on an Imperial shuttle, no less. But she turns to the man in question to ask, “Are you a Rebel?”

Vanee snorts.

Dr. Levy’s lip twitches.

The uninvited guest looks offended.

But Lord Vader doesn’t miss a beat. He drawls, “Well, Milo? Whose side are you on?” The question is a low rumble filled with much skepticism. Suddenly, Astral is certain that question has several layers of meaning.

“Long have I served the Sith,” the man responds as he bows even lower this time. 

Lord Vader remains unconvinced and it shows. “What is he doing here?” he demands of Vanee.

Vanee is vague. “I had some unforeseen difficulties. Milo was most helpful, Master.”

“Meaning . . .?”

“Lord Sidious has frozen all our accounts. I had no credits with which to purchase supplies. Luckily, Milo was in the area to provide funds.”

Lord Vader raises an nonexistent eyebrow. “In the area?”

Vanee squirms. “Well, I might have contacted him.”

“You felt that was necessary?” Lord Vader continues his grilling.

“Yes, my Lord. You see, it was time for Plan B.”

“And Plan A was?”

“Steal the supplies, my Lord.”

“You got caught?”

“Arrested. Milo arrived to settle things. We are paid up now. I was released from custody.”

Lord Vader groans. “And we owe this all to the munificence of my Master?”

“I am happy to have been of service, my Lord,” the Milo guy bows low a third time. Any lower and his nose will scrape the floor, Astral thinks. And, yikes, his eyes find her now. “Who is this?” he inquires.

Before she can open her mouth, Lord Vader answers back. “She’s nobody. Pay her no heed.” And that ends that. Milo eyes her carefully but does not press further.

“If I may say so, my Lord, everyone at Coruscant is concerned for you.” Milo’s eyes sweep the figure of Lord Vader unmasked. He’s wearing a loose black v-neck tunic that reveals the burn scars on his neck and upper chest. His pants are slack from the thighs down. It betrays the absence of his lower prosthetics. With the suit off, he’s got his chest plate hung on a chain around his neck. It plugs unto an imbedded port near his shoulder, Astral has learned. From her weeks at the castle, she has become very used to the sight of Darth Vader en dishabille. But she can see how it might be alarming to someone unaccustomed to it.

Lord Vader bristles. “I’m fine.”

“The Master was very harsh this time—“

“I’m fine. Now stop gawking and get out of here!” Lord Vader wheezes at the old man. “I’m not dead yet.”

Milo turns to Vanee. “So, this is better? You said he was better. He looks very bad—“

“I’m sitting right here!” Lord Vader grumps.

Vanee dutifully speaks only positive thoughts. “He’s on the mend, never fear. Tell the Master he will soon be fully functional again. With these new limbs, he should be better than ever in combat.”

Milo is having none of it. “He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week—“

“Well, the pain . . . “ Vanee explains vaguely. “But some of that is him, you know. He’s not a smiley fellow. That’s just his resting Sith face,” Vanee improvises nervously. Then he cringes visibly at the ridiculousness of that answer.

Milo gives him a pained look at this feeble attempt. “He looks half dead—“

“Well, it’s not like Lord Sidious is a looker,” Vanee interrupts. As always, he is Lord Vader’s staunchest advocate. “He’s fine. He just needs a few more weeks.”

“I’m fine!” Lord Vader chimes in to second that assessment.

“He’s fine!” Dr. Levy adds his endorsement, too. And now, Astral is concerned for why everyone is so concerned about putting a positive spin on Lord Vader’s progress.

“Seldom do we see Lord Vader so . . . at home,” Milo observes with a raised eyebrow.

Vanee is indignant. “A man’s home is his castle. I mean, a man’s castle is his castle. Look, he wants to be comfortable. Milo, don’t tell me Lord Sidious never takes a sick day—“

“Get out!” Lord Vader has heard enough. The blaster Astral laid aside on a table now flies into Lord Vader’s new artificial right hand. He points it coolly at Milo. “Tell him I’ll be ready,” Lord Vader growls as he takes aim.

“Very good, my Lord,” the old man Milo bows low yet again. Then, to everyone’s great relief he withdraws before there’s a murder.

As soon as he’s gone, Lord Vader tosses aside the blaster. He orders the doctor, “Go get my legs. I’m putting them on.”

“Now? But my Lord—“

“Now, Levy,” Lord Vader orders in a tone that will not tolerate no argument.

Still, the concerned physician silently appeals to Vanee.

Vanee nods yes at the young doctor. “Do it.”

Lord Vader catches the exchange and snarls, “What are you looking to him for? I am still the Master here! I’m not dead yet!” He raises a hand to clench a threatening fist and the doctor fairly leaps to do his bidding.

“Yes, my Lord! Right away, my Lord!” he yelps.

“I’ll go help you unload,” Astral volunteers to Vanee under her breath. When Lord Vader is in one of his moods, it’s best to give him space.

But the old retainer brushes her off. “No, stay with him. I’ll handle it.” Vanee now turns to Lord Vader to report, “Milo was on his way here. There’s no other plausible explanation for why he happened to be in the neighborhood. My contacting him probably served to delay him for a few hours. At least that got you time to get your arms on.”

His Master scowls. “Go unload. Get me some dinner,” he dismisses Vanee coldly.

The longtime servant departs just as rushing Dr. Levy reappears with the artificial legs. Astral watches in silence as he attaches them. The grimace of pain on Lord Vader’s face is hard to miss. Astral herself flinches as she hears the prosthetics click into place. Then, Dr. Levy fetches a walker apparatus that he places beside the bed. Gingerly, he helps Lord Vader swing his new legs over the side. Then, gripping the walker handles tightly with his newly affixed artificial hands, Lord Vader attempts to stand as Dr. Levy hovers closely as a spotter.

“The legs bear weight all the time, unlike the hands,” the doctor explains for her benefit. “That places increased stress on the muscles and the nerves that surround them. Once he can bear weight and balance, we will progress to steps. But no walking today,” the young doctor sternly admonishes his patient. “My Lord, you risk giving yourself a setback.”

“Levy—”

“It’s true,” the doctor protests stubbornly. “Now, sit down. Ten reps from sitting to standing will be enough for now. Then, some dinner and you can try again—”

“Levy, get out!” the Master growls. “Go unload with Vanee.”

“But Sir—”

“GO!”

“Alright,” the man relents. He turns to Astral. “Spot him, will you? He’s going to be off balance because he’s not used to the weight of these new limbs. Plus, he’s been lying in bed for two weeks so his core strength is shot. If he starts to fall, try to catch him. If you can, push him back so he lands on the bed.”

“Got it,” she steps up. The worried looking doctor gives his patient one more look before he departs. Now, it’s just Astral watching the wheezing, obviously pained Sith Lord attempt to shift his weight off the bed to stand again.

Astral says nothing for a moment, she just watches. Taking note of how much faster his breathing has become. It’s the telltale sign that he is breathing through extreme pain. Befuddled at how the visit from that guy Milo could have provoked Lord Vader to suddenly rush things, she dares to ask, “Why are you doing this?“

Lord Vader ignores her.

So, she presses. “You weren’t going to do this for at least another three or four days.”

“My recovery has become more urgent,” he rasps as he sits back down. “I need to be able to function to defend myself.”

She’s confused. “From the Rebels?”

“From Sheev. Milo will report back to Sheev. And one of these days, my Master will summon me to Coruscant.”

“Yes. And?” She’s not following.

Lord Vader’s yellow eyes find her blue ones. “Sheev doesn’t buzz me on the comlink. My Master summons me with a test.”

That sounds ominous. “What sort of test?”

“He sends an assassin or two.”

She gulps. “W-Why??”

“Because he doesn’t want a weak Apprentice. If I win, I keep the job. If I lose—“

“You die,” she finishes woodenly. She’s catching on to how this Sith thing works.

He nods. “You wanted to know about the Sith? Know this—we are violent, vengeful men who know no loyalty other than power.”

“The Emperor is not loyal to you?” It’s a stupid question. She saw the Emperor punish Lord Vader with lightning, nearly killing him. Of course, he’s not loyal.

Darth Vader admits, “The feeling is mutual. I am not loyal to Sheev. I serve him only because I have to. Astral, I must obey my Master.”

“I see.” She swallows hard. Then, thinking of the fate of her doomed world, she chooses sides. It’s not the Rebels, it’s their arch foe. The man who is a public symbol of the Emperor’s will, but who is a private critic of his tyrant boss. Why? Because she’s from Alderaan. Astral was raised on the commitment to truth and faith in the rule of law. She values transparency, equality, and fairness. She respects moderation and compromise. Those were all ideals of the Old Republic that lost its way. But Astral stubbornly trusts that the arc of the moral universe might be long but it bends towards justice. So she has hope that the Empire can reform. But for that to occur, she thinks, this beleaguered Apprentice must supplant his evil Master Lord Sidious, the murderer of Alderaan.

Nodding encouragingly at the tired, discouraged man, she announces, “Well then, we must get you well, my Lord. So that you can subvert our fucking Emperor every chance you get.”

His eyes widen at her coarse language. But she won’t apologize. She meets his gaze. “Palpatine murdered billions of innocent people when he destroyed my world. He’s not fit to rule. You should rule instead.”

Lord Vader shakes his head with regret. “I can’t overthrow him. And talk like that is dangerous. Even here.”

Astral stubbornly lifts her chin. “It’s treason then.”

Those yellow eyes almost look amused now. “Are you turning Rebel on me, Astral?”

“No. I’m fine with the Empire. I’m not looking to turn back the clock. I just want to move forward with a better leader than the one we’ve got. I’m for reform, not revolution.”

“I’m not your man. Look at me,” Lord Vader gestures to himself with disgust. Then he looks away as he sighs, “I’m more machine now than man . . . with barely any Force left.”

“No!” she immediately objects. “Don’t say that! All this hardware changes nothing, my Lord. It’s a tool, it’s not who you are.”

But the man is glum. “It’s only a matter of time before Sheev replaces me. This is a losing battle and everyone knows it.”

“My Lord—“

He overrides her. “Do not feel sorry for me, Astral, I did this to myself. I didn’t fully understand what I was signing up for when I became a Sith—no Apprentice does. But I knew enough.”

“Don’t give up.” She reaches out to offer her hand and he joins his new artificial hand with hers. This is a version of the handshake they practiced earlier. Only this time it is a show of solidarity, not rehab. Not once yet has she seen this stoic man appear defeated, but he does now. It’s very affecting to see the proud, determined Darth Vader humbled. That interview with Milo has really got him down. Astral very much wants to encourage him.

“Try again?” she prompts softly.

Lord Vader shifts his hand back to grip the walker as he gingerly stands again. He’s bracing himself heavily this time, she sees. There is very little weight on his legs as a result. And yet still, he is gasping with pain. Lord Vader lasts only a few seconds this time before he again sits back on the edge of the bed. Irritated with himself and his situation, he abruptly yanks the walker up as she leaps away. Then he unceremoniously tosses the equipment across the room. It hits the far wall and folds as it clatters to the floor.

Astral says nothing at this violence, but as she returns from retrieving the walker her face must speak volumes.

“No pity, remember?” he rasps, glaring at her. Then, he says it again angrily. It comes out as a roar more from its intensity than for its volume. “NO PITY!”

“This isn’t pity, my Lord,” Astral answers as she resumes her spotter position close opposite him. She counters simply, “This is compassion.” Then, she impulsively slips her arms around his lean frame and briefly presses close. It’s a quick friendly hug. Nothing more. But he needs this, she senses. She needs this too probably. For they are both in their own ways so miserable.

“Don’t give up,” she whispers to him.

It’s over in an instant. Then, she steps back and snaps open the walker to reposition it. “That’s three times, my Lord. Seven more to go before dinner.” They resume their rehabilitation exercises and she resumes her professional distance. Careful to address him as ‘my Lord’ and to show quick deference to signal that henceforth she will respect the boundaries she just overstepped.


	7. chapter 7

“Ready to take a break, my Lord?”

“No.”

Once more, Vader plods across the room while Levy looks on. Two weeks into his intensive rehabilitation, he’s stuck relying on a cane for balance. But at least he’s past the completely helpless stage. He might still be a sitting duck for an enemy to easily dispatch, but he can feed himself now and scratch his own nose. It’s an improvement.

The indignity of infirmity has long been a fact of his life. But he will never get used to ceding his independence. He began life powerless as a slave and he’s still powerless in many respects. For he survives at the mercy of his fickle Master’s goodwill and he functions only as well as his complicated prosthetic equipment performs. He takes pains to hide the true extent of his disability from the galaxy, to make the public figure of Darth Vader an intimidating sight with commanding presence. But far too much of the fierce Imperial warlord persona is smoke and mirrors. The humiliating truth is that his body requires constant care to remain as healthy as possible.

Still, if he can manage to recover from this punishment and to retain his role as Apprentice, he can rebuild to where he was. Then, so long as he gets regular bacta baths, sufficient workouts, and decent sleep, in time he should regain his stamina and lost strength. These new limbs are extra heavy, so he will need decent muscle mass to wield them in combat.

“Water, my Lord?” hovering Levy offers for the second time in five minutes.

“No. Again,” Vader wheezes as he turns to retrace his steps. 

He spends hours a day on rehab, working his body until exhaustion. Then it’s massage and bacta lotions for his tired muscles to recover. Vader rests between sessions, sometimes doing fine motor work with his new hands or even taking a nap, until he starts the process all over again. Day in, day out, his focus is on regaining function and building stamina. It is hard, frustrating work.

The progress is not linear. There are good days and bad days. Some days it feels like one step forward and two steps back. Moreover, his healing is not consistent. His right side has weaker motor skills but better nerve function. His sword arm is particularly uncoordinated, he knows. But he persists. For if there is one defining characteristic of Darth Vader, it is determination.

He didn’t used to be like this. He was the wunderkind who didn’t have to try at anything. It was all so effortless for the prodigy Chosen One. He started training late at age ten and yet by his teens he had surpassed many Jedi Masters in skill level. Plus, he was young and naturally athletic with the coordination of a dancer that made swordplay more fun than work. Determination, grit, perseverance . . . those were qualities for the less talented Padawans. Those virtues were silver linings that served as consolation for those who came up short. He himself never struggled. It was all too easy, Vader sees with hindsight. And that had fueled his arrogance. But pride will come before the fall. And so, ironically the humility he couldn’t learn as a Jedi, he has learned as a Sith.

At least Obi-Wan had looked like Hell too. That realization was unexpected, but welcome. His old Master didn’t burn from lava or dabble in the Dark Side, but he sure didn’t age well. Twenty years in exile looked like thirty years or more for that guy. Vader has seen hobos on Rim worlds who looked better off than Obi-Wan did. The guy really let himself go. And, actually, it was gratifying to see.

He’s been thinking a lot about Obi-Wan lately. Wondering what his old mentor had been up to for the past twenty years. Curious for what the Jedi’s involvement has been with the Rebels. Worried for what Obi-Wan’s relationship had been with that ace Rebel pilot. But those mysteries will likely remain unsolved now that he blew it in the confrontation on the Death Star.

When he first sensed his old Master in the Force, Vader had been floored. Thrown for a loop and . . . scared. After all, things hadn’t gone well last time. Plus, somehow in his mind, he envisioned battling the man he lost to twenty years ago. Not the grizzled old codger he found near the controls for the tractor beam. Truthfully, Vader had been shocked and relieved by the appearance of Kenobi. Obi-Wan’s powers were weak, and his body was old.

Still, the fight went nothing like Vader anticipated. This wasn’t the marathon duel of equals on Mustafar. This was two creaky men old before their time attempting to wield swords against a trained opponent for the first time in years. There had been more trash talk than actual saber swinging. But it was still terribly upsetting. That aggrieved contest two decades in the making brought up so much anger that it threatened to overwhelm Vader. He quickly channeled his churning emotions into power. There was no way Kenobi was going to win this time.

But all that focused rage and controlled fear was blinding. Before Vader could stop himself, he was swinging for the head. Then Obi-Wan disappeared in a befuddling move that left Vader feeling more unnerved than victorious. It was all over before he remembered that he hadn’t demanded to know about the fate of Padme and the children. Those answers died with Kenobi.

And Vader can live with that. Sure, he lost the opportunity to learn the truth, but the truth wouldn’t matter anyway at this point. He meant what he told Astral: it’s best for all involved if he never finds his children. He accepted long ago that they are gone. And since he never met them, it was easy to lose them. Far easier than letting go of the dream of reviving Padme.

Vanee now appears with news. It breaks Vader’s reverie and pulls him back to the present. “My Lord, Captain Groat has arrived.”

It’s the Intel guy. “Good. I will receive him,” Vader decides.

That necessitates the suit. The staff here at Mustafar might get to see him as his true self, but others do not. Vanee knows this, of course. He hurries away to retrieve the outfit and the helmet while Levy gives him a stim shot to perk him up.

Truthfully, just putting the uniform on makes Vader feel better. More like his normal self. Concealing his prosthetics helps him to feel less freakish. And the helmet—well, he likes the helmet. The frozen blank stare scares everyone. It conceals his expressions as well as his scars. Only his Master can see past the helmet. Everyone else is intimidated by the unknown that lies beneath.

Vanee helps him to dress. There’s only one thing missing—the cape. But Astral arrives with one draped in half over her arm. He has to stoop and she has to stretch to throw it over his armored shoulders. Vader still doesn’t have the fine motor finesse to clasp it himself. So Astral has to reach while he bends so she can hook it. It’s the closest she’s been to him since she hugged him two weeks ago.

Astral smiles as she pulls back. “Now you look like Lord Vader,” she approves as she fusses with the lay of the fabric.

Beside her, Vanee beams. “Absolutely.” And beneath the mask, Vader can feel himself flush. It’s silly, but it feels good to know that he has their support. So much of his life is criticism. Rarely does he meet with people’s approval.

But it’s time to get down to business. “Where is he?”

“Downstairs. Follow me, my Lord,” Vanee offers. “We’ll get you set up and I’ll bring him in.”

The walk to the elevator is not too bad, but he leans heavily on the cane. “Do you want me to bring the hover chair?” Astral asks softly as she matches her pace to his. “That way you can save your strength to stand?”

It’s a reasonable suggestion, but he shoots it down. “No.”

Astral doesn’t argue back. She just sets her lips in a tense line that tells him she disagrees but is holding her tongue. It’s just what his mother might have done. But not Padme. Padme would have started arguing with him. His wife always spoke her mind.

He manages to make it to the first public room downstairs. He’s only slightly winded by the effort. That is real progress. Vader positions himself with his back to the room as he looks out a window. Then he admonishes Vanee, “Make this quick,” as the servant collects the cane to hide it. Outwardly, Vader will appear like he always does to Captain Groat. But this interview will be a real test of his shaky stamina. Thankfully, no one can see his sweating and shaking beneath the suit and helmet.

“Ready?” Vanee asks.

“Send him in.”

“Very good.” Vanee shoves the cane at Astral and tells her to hover just outside an open doorway. Then he disappears to return with the Intel guy.

Vanee puts on his full terrifying dignity now. First, he executes a solemn bow. Then he croaks out, “My Lord, Captain Groat is here to see you,” like he has just announced the guy’s imminent execution. 

Vanee knows how to set the tone perfectly. Because if the lava doesn’t intimidate you, and the black spired fortress fails to impress, then the creepy dude with the high voice in the grim reaper outfit who conveys you to the castle’s resident Sith Lord will put you in your place. Trust it to Vanee to posture like a deceitful Sith himself. Sometimes this act is a bit of an inside joke and Vader can hear the smile behind Vanee’s words. But not today. Today, his faithful conspirator servant is very concerned to safeguard his Master’s aegis. Vanee might not have the Force, but he is unusually perceptive. And, he knows how precarious the situation is.

Groat snaps to rigid military attention as Vanee withdraws. “Lord Vader.”

“Captain,” he greets the spy without turning around, “tell me something useful.”

“The Rebels are dispersed for now as they attempt to locate a new base of operations. They’ve been scouting systems in the Rim.”

“How many Rebels remain?”

“Hard to tell. Three to five hundred max. But those number overstate their capabilities. They lost most of their starfighters at Scarif and at the Death Star. That means their attack potential is significantly diminished. But the Rebels are well funded, my Lord. You can bet that once they establish a new base, they will start spending on new equipment.”

“Make sure we are watching all the major weapons and starship manufacturers. Get someone hacking the orders at Kuat and CEC. Perhaps we can follow their shipments to lead us to the new Rebel base.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Have you been successful infiltrating them?”

“We still have two agents embedded. Another has made contact, but the Rebels are currently so disorganized that they aren’t really recruiting.”

“And?”

“The Death Star pilot isn’t in the group with our embeds.”

“Who is the pilot?”

“His given name is Luke. That’s all I know. I don’t have a surname. No one in the Rebels seems to know much about him, my Lord. He just appeared the day of the attack with a small-time smuggler, a wookiee, the escaped Alderaan princess, and the droid with the Death Star plans.”

“Then who is the smuggler?”

“He goes by the name Han Solo. My Lord, that’s the interesting part. The smuggler is wanted by the Hutts.”

“Which Hutt?”

“Jabba. The one on Tatooine.”

Of course. “That’s where the droids were lost.” The freighter captured entering the Alderaan system had the droids, Kenobi, and the smuggler crew aboard. One of those crewmen must have been the pilot with the Force who took the miracle shot. Could he and the smuggler be looking to hide out from the Hutts with the Rebels?

“Double the bounty the Hutts have on the smuggler,” Vader orders. “I want him alive. No disintegrations.” Dead men don’t talk.

“Very good, my Lord.”

“Get me a report of the smuggler’s known associates and activities. The Death Star pilot must be his friend or his coworker. Get a team down on Tatooine to investigate that smuggler’s ship. It blasted its way out of Mos Eisley spaceport. Someone on the ground may have seen something useful.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Do we know what this Luke pilot looks like?”

“Negative, Sir. We have no description of him. Only that he is young and human.”

That’s not much to go on. Surely, it can’t be that hard to get a description of the fellow since he’s a celebrity among the traitors. Wanting multiple avenues in play to uncover the elusive pilot with the Force, Vader orders, “Get me a Rebel pilot. Any Rebel pilot. They will know the name of the guy who took out the station.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He’s fading fast. This is the longest ever he has stood unaided, and it’s taking its toll. Vader needs to wrap this up. So, he summarizes, “Look for the smuggler. Look for the smuggler’s ship. Look for any Rebel pilot or commander who we can beat the information out of. I want that pilot,” he hisses to the Intelligence officer.

“Yes, my Lord. We’ll find him.”

“Make haste, Groat. Time is wasting.”

“Yes, my Lord. How shall I report?”

“Only to me. No official records.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Vanee instantly appears to conduct the man out. As soon as the pair disappears into the hallway, Astral rushes in with his cane. And that’s helpful, but what he really needs right now is a chair. Luckily, this room is one of the lounge areas on the main floor. Vader limps leaning heavily on Astral and the cane until he reaches the closest couch. Then, he unceremoniously falls into it with a groan.

Astral yelps, “Shall I get Dr. Levy?”

No need to ask. The doctor is already here. He shoos Astral aside as he starts poking at his chestplate, opening it to assess the data concealed on the inside. “You’re okay, my Lord,” Levy sounds relieved. “Just fatigued. I think that’s enough for today.”

“I’m fine,” Vader groans. “Give me another stim shot and I’ll be fine.”

“Negative, my Lord. One a day is our agreed limit, remember? Those are a crutch--”

“Go away, Levy,” Vader orders, unwilling to listen to his lecture. “Go fetch me some water.” He gives the guy a task to do, which succeeds in getting rid of him at least temporarily.

Vanee is back now. “Good show!” he heralds as he returns. “Groat was the none the wiser,” he cackles. “You fooled him through and through, my Lord!”

Vanee helps him get the helmet off and Levy is back with water. The two men fuss over him while Astral stands off to the side watching. Her thoughts are churning. Vader can sense it in the Force. She wants to say something, but she’s holding her tongue like earlier. So, Vader looks to her and prompts, “Yes? What is it?”

“Why do you want the Rebel Death Star pilot?” she asks.

Vanee answers for him. “To get back into Lord Sidious’ good graces. The Sith love revenge.”

It’s true. Vader nods. “The Empire needs a win. A public win.”

“What will happen to him?”

“He will be interrogated. Then probably a public show trial and an execution.”

“So you will make an example out of him?”

“Yes.” Isn’t it obvious? “He took out the Death Star.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Astral counters.

“Yes. We will not tolerate violent terrorist extremists. Tens of thousands died on the Death Star,” Vader reminds her.

“That’s nothing compared to Alderaan.”

“That’s a different issue, Astral.”

“I know.” But then she points out, “With the Senate disbanded, there is no recourse for dissent now, is there? I mean, short of joining the Rebels, how do the people voice their concerns?”

“They don’t,” Vader answers simply. That’s how this absolute power thing works.

“So, we just trust in the Emperor to make the right decisions?” Astral follows up, sounding increasingly indignant.

“Yes,” he sighs, knowing full well that she knows the Emperor is not fit to rule. “With or without a Senate, nothing has changed.” He sighs and divulges now, “That pilot was good. He had the Force.”

Vanee and Levy exchange looks. They know what this means. Vanee’s eyes narrow on him. “He is Jedi, Master?”

“I don’t know,” Vader admits. “The Force was strong with him. It was hard to mistake.”

Vanee now concludes, “Then that pilot must die for sure.” The old guy meets his eyes and admonishes sternly, “My Lord, make sure that man dies. Don’t take him on as Inquisitorius.” Vanee won’t say it out loud, but his point is clear: don’t set the young pilot up to become his possible replacement. Have him instead die a martyr to the Rebel cause. And Vader is fine with that outcome, so long as he gets to interrogate the pilot himself. He wants to know more about Kenobi’s whereabouts for the last twenty years. That might help lead them to Yoda who lurks out there somewhere in exile. Finding Yoda would end the Purge once and for all. It would mean sucking up to Sheev bigtime, too.

Astral speaks up again. “The Emperor needs to bring back the Senate.”

Vader doesn’t know what’s got Astral so interested in a legislature, but he sets her straight. “Why give Mon Mothma a forum to spread her crusade to bring back the Republic? That won’t happen,” Vader informs her. “The Senate was largely symbolic anyway. There was no real power there.”

“That’s not what the people think,” Astra counters. “That matters, my Lord. The people thought they had a say in their government.”

“They don’t,” Vader is blunt.

“You’re missing the point. The people’s perception is what matters.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is,” she persists. “Perception is why you just put on the mask and the suit, right?”

“That’s different,” Vanee huffs.

“No, it’s not,” Astral digs in. And, she might have a point. But what she’s really looking for is a way to influence Sheev Palpatine, Vader knows. And that is a lost cause. First, she wanted him to be her champion. Now, she’s hoping for the Senate to influence things. But neither is a reasonable possibility at this point. She’s stuck with Sheev running things, like everyone else. It’s not ideal, but what can you do?

Honestly, Astral had surprised him by overtly urging him on to treason. She had been sincere, too. But his chance to supplant Sheev as Master was lost long ago. Now, it’s just a pipe dream crossed with a death wish. Vader won’t go there.

Sure, he has yearned to be free of the yoke of his Master. But Vader accepted his Apprentice role long ago. It’s a mindset really. He has decided to embrace the better aspects of his job that achieve what he himself would do were he the boss of the galaxy. That’s things like the pursuit of law and order even in the Outer Rim systems. Like the Purge of the Jedi and the suppression of their ideas. Like military reforms to retire the clones and to create a standing all-volunteer professional army. Sheev lets him do all of these things unhindered. Then, naturally, he takes credit for them.

His Master is still a politician at heart. He cares about his poll numbers and public perception. He cultivates the image of the wiseman grandfather figure, of the longtime statesman who has served the public interest for decades. But, in truth, he has only served himself.

The longer Sheev is Emperor, the more reclusive and entrenched he becomes. Sheev listens to Mas Amedda and a few other cronies who are basically an echo chamber of yes-men. In that context, criticism is rarely uttered. Instead, Sheev hears a consistent chorus of flattery. It combines to make him both out of touch and overconfident. Those are two true weaknesses a well-placed rival might exploit. But with the Jedi all but extinct and his Apprentice too weak to be a threat, Sheev is sitting pretty and he knows it. So, though he is paranoid, he is also gleefully smug. It’s extremely irritating.

The thought had occurred to Vader that the Death Star might be the solution to his predicament. He had mused for a while over the possibility of using Sheev’s prized super weapon against him. It seemed sort of fitting for Sheev to die for his Dark hubris. Vader would hijack the weapon to shoot a single reactor hit on the Imperial Palace on Coruscant. The problem is that it might obliterate Sheev, but it would obliterate a lot more too. For once Vader saw the aftermath of Jehda, he understood that turning the Death Star on Sheev’s Coruscant lair would take out the most populous, most prosperous portion of the galaxy’s famed city world. It would kill millions. And how would Vader explain that? How would he argue that he saved everyone from the murderous tyrant Sheev when he himself had murdered millions in his own power grab? 

Not that it matters now. The Death Star is no more.

And why is he even thinking about this? Killing Sheev is a lot like finding his twins. It’s a fantasy he will never achieve. Vader knows better than to torment himself with these scenarios. But still . . . he can’t seem to let go of them. He’s never been good at letting dreams die. He’s stubborn like that.

But he appreciates the vote of confidence from Astral. It’s one more way she’s not like Padme, he realizes. His wife had recoiled from the prospect of ruling the galaxy with him. Unlike Astral, who cheerleads him onto political assassination. She’s sees him as the lesser of two evils most likely. But that’s something, at least. Padme had only seen him as evil in her simplistic mindset of good guys versus bad guys. For all her talk of democracy, there really wasn’t much compromise in his principled wife. Maybe Astral is a product of her post-democracy times, or maybe she’s just more nuanced in her approach, but she was at once ruthlessly pragmatic and hopelessly idealistic when she made her pitch. His younger self would have accepted in a heartbeat. And then, bolstered by her urgings to glory, that quick hug would have ended differently. When Astral pulled back, he would have tugged her forward into a kiss. But those days are over. He’s not kissing anyone now. But the hug was nice. He can’t remember the last time anyone hugged him.

Now, it’s back to the infirmary to remove the suit and take a nap before he rouses for another round of rehab. He’ll give Levy some more instructions to refine the sword arm mechanics again while he rests. By the end of the week, he wants to try some basic combat moves. But first, he needs better balance. He needs to graduate off of the cane.

Hours later that night, he can’t sleep. He’s exhausted but his mind won’t shut off. So, he amuses himself reliving that hug from Astral. It’s a harmless daydream about the first woman in decades who has embraced him. Most people quake from him, but not Astral. She looks him in the eye and proposes he kill his Master. He knows it’s an ambition born of grief and desperation. It’s an urge for revenge that she calls justice. And . . . it’s a longtime secret fantasy of his as well. To have a beautiful woman plot with him to rule the galaxy? Well, that’s everything a Sith Lord could ever hope for. Except . . . it’s the wrong time and the wrong place and the wrong woman. It’s too late for all that. And now, that daydream of a soft body pressed close doesn’t relax him. Far from it. Irritated, Vader now lumbers up off his hospital bed, calling for his cane with the Force.

He’s done sleeping in the infirmary, he decides. He wants his own bed in his own room downstairs. So he begins plodding slowly to the elevator. Wincing a little at the sound of his bare prosthetic feet clanging on the floor. It uncomfortably reminds him of General Grievous from years back. But it’s too much effort for him to put on his own boots so he does his best to ignore it.

Vader doesn’t bother to switch on the lights as he lumbers through his darkened castle. Mustafar day looks a lot like Mustafar night, so the ever-present windows give plenty of red light for his journey. Everyone in his small household seems to have retired for the night by now. While Vader appreciated the precaution, he has dispensed with pretense of nightly guard duty. Astral couldn’t shoot anyone anyway, Vanee is old and needs his rest, and overworked Levy is already very sleep deprived. Plus, now that Vader has his limbs back, he feels more able to defend himself. Well, probably not against Sheev’s assassins. But certainly, against a band of ragtag Rebels. His body might be a wreck, but he has the Force. It’s still a game changer. And there is plenty you can do with a lightsaber even if you can’t physically swing it.

Damn, this is hard. He needs to take a break. It’s been a long day and his body is weak. He has two choices: fall onto the closest couch for a breather or make it down the side hallway to the kitchen. He opts for the kitchen. The kitchen has cookies.

The kitchen also has Astral. She’s seated at the table, chin in her hand as she intently watches a datapad. Beside her are a forgotten cup of tea and a half-eaten cookie.

That had better not be the last cookie.

Astral glances up as he arrives in the doorway. She greets him with that soft, throaty voice he finds very distinctive. “I thought that was you, my Lord.”

“Guess I can’t sneak up on anyone these days,” he grumbles. If the respirator didn’t give him away, then his metal feet did.

“Need a seat?” She stands and pulls out a chair for him. He limps and canes his way over to sprawl into it. He’s out of breath from his efforts and grateful for the break.

Astral retakes her own seat. It’s the end of the day and her severe hairdo has loosened somewhat, he notices. Tendrils escape from confinement here and there. But the appealing softer look is at odds with her current hard expression.

“Have you seen this?” She slides over the datapad. It’s playing a video file from the holonet.

Vader squints his distaste. It’s that pesky Alderaan Rebel princess Leia Organa. She’s a firebrand as she tells the galaxy that the Empire destroyed Alderaan with its Death Star super weapon it claims was a regular space station. She was there, the Princess swears, with Lord Vader and Grand Moff Tarkin when the order was given to obliterate her home planet. The highest levels of Imperial authority—men who report to the Emperor himself—were present for the tragic demonstration of the weapon’s power. And what’s worse, they made her watch. The Princess flat out calls the Emperor a liar as she defends the Rebels’ actions to destroy the Death Star. They are patriots defending the galaxy from their tyrannical Emperor, she crows. Then she issues a rousing call to arms for volunteers to join the revolt.

When the recording ends and the file fuzzes out into static, Vader sighs and pushes away the datapad. This move is not unexpected, but it is unfortunate. Things just got even more complicated for him.

“Is it true?” Astral demands.

He slants her a glance and freely admits, “Yes.”

“You were there when the order was given?” she chokes out. “You actually watched it happen?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t try to s-stop it??” she stammers, accusation evident in her rising tone.

Again, he sighs. “I couldn’t stop it. Tarkin had the command. Not me.”

She is wholly dissatisfied by this answer. “Then what can you do? What do you do exactly? You’re supposed to be Lord Vader! The second most powerful man in the universe!”

It’s a far more astute question than she realizes. And it hits home. Because he’s none too keen that Sheev marginalizes him on issues as important as the Death Star.

But that’s a different topic. In the face of Astral’s suddenly brimming eyes and trembling chin, he confesses. “I was never a fan of the Death Star. I bought into it initially when the project was begun at the end of the Clone Wars. The galaxy was in chaos back then and a weapon like that seemed to have strategic merit. I believed it would be an effective deterrent. And since we had just fought the war to end all wars, I was hopeful all it would take is a Death Star to keep the peace.” He shakes his head and delivers the punchline. “I was wrong.” He was wrong and now the weapon that was conceived as a tool to prevent war will start a new one.

“Yes, yes!” she wails. “You were wrong! And Alderaan is gone for that mistake!”

He nods and again accepts culpability. “I was wrong.” It is quietly and anticlimactically said.

She’s still dissatisfied. And angry Very, very angry. “That’s it? That’s all??” she jeers.

He doesn’t react to her rising emotions. For he recognizes that Astral has entered the next stage of her grief. She has passed ‘sad’ and moved onto ‘mad’ at this point.

“What do you want?” he asks plainly. “What will satisfy you?”

“An apology.”

Okay. Here goes: “I’m sorry, Astral.”

“That doesn’t help!”

“I know. But it’s all I can do. Alderaan isn’t coming back. It’s gone. And nothing anyone can say or do will change that. Grieve your world, and then let it go. Move on.” Vader looks her in the eye and gives her his best advice. “Don’t get trapped in the past. There’s nothing there for you now.” He speaks from experience.

“I don’t want this to happen again. What’s to stop this from happening again?” she frets.

“The weapon is gone.”

“Could they build another?”

Gods, he hopes not. “It took twenty years to build the first one and far too many credits. With a war looming, Sheev won’t want to divert resources to build another.”

Astral’s face is dark with bloodlust now. “I hope the Rebels kill him,” she hisses.

Not a chance. “No one alive can kill him. It would take a Force user to even hurt him.”

“Like a Jedi?”

“Yes.” Maybe that Rebel pilot who was super strong with the Force. Perhaps if he got the proper training, maybe he could do it. But not without inside help. A lot of inside help.

“And you can’t do it?” Astral asks again hopefully.

He shoots her down with an unequivocal “No.” He won’t throw his life away on the suicide mission to kill Sheev Palpatine. He’s not that stupid.

Astral relents and bites her lip. She’s keeping her composure, but barely. He watches as she reaches with a shaky hand to activate the datapad. The video of the Rebel princess’ diatribe plays again. They both watch in silence.

“She’s our queen now, I guess,” Astral murmurs sadly when it ends. Then she looks to him. “What is she like?”

“The Princess?” Vader thinks a moment. “She’s very young. And she’s got a mouth on her.”

“Really?” Astral frowns. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“She called us all sorts of names. It was juvenile, but she is young.” Vader stares glumly at the datapad. “This is a problem for me,” he gripes.

“How so?”

“It puts pressure on me to appear in public to refute her claims.”

“The Palace has already denied it. They say you’re unavailable for comment because you are off chasing the Rebels.”

“That excuse only works for so long. The media will want to see me alive and well denying her claims.” He can’t wait to see the holonet ‘Vader Lives!’ memes at his reemergence. This whole thing is shaping up to be a ‘he said, she said’ holonet circus. It’s a silly way to begin a war.

His response is not what Astral wants to hear She gives him a cool look and raises one eyebrow. “So once again, you will be complicit?”

“Yes.” Vader shrugs off her disapproval. “I will record something from here and send it on. Maybe that will buy me some time. I’m in no shape to return to work right now.”

“So you will add to the mix of lies and fake news?” Astral needles him with another leading question.

“Yes.”

That answer earns him a resentful glare. “I don’t know what to believe any longer. No one in the galaxy does. And I don’t like that,” she informs him angrily.

He is cynical at her dismay. “Truth is the first casualty of war.”

“But we’re not at war. Wait—are we?”

“If we’re not already at war, we soon will be. It may take us some time before we admit it, though.”

“Oh.” Her face is the picture of consternation now. And that makes sense. This is a woman who has a fortune in artwork she wants to return rather than abscond with. Because Astral Sidhu keeps her word. She’s honest and she wants life to be honest too. But that’s not how the Empire works.

“Do you know how frustrating this is?” she complains. “To listen to the news and not know the truth from the lies? Because everyone has an agenda and they bend the fact to their perspective?”

Hell yes. “I do.” Vader looks outraged Astral in the eye and levels with her. “It’s almost as frustrating as being the one who tells the lies. Astral, if I didn’t value the truth, I never would have told you the truth.”

She flushes. His words take all the heat from her anger. “I’m sorry I called you complicit,” she grumbles.

He smirks back. “I’ve been called a lot worse.” Much worse. Most recently by that pesky princess.

“You’re not really complicit. More like compelled,” Astral posits.

And, well, not exactly. Not at the beginning. More so now, probably. But who knows? So, Vader equivocates, “Yes and no.” Then, he reminds her how he came to be in this position of watching galactic events unfold from afar as an invalid who stress eats at night with his refugee houseguest: “I must obey my Master.”

She nods. Of course, she nods. She saw the whole humiliating scene on Coruscant with the lightning.

“You’re not at all who I thought you were,” Astral observes softly.

Vader harrumphs and his eyes narrow. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Both, maybe. I don’t know.” She looks particularly embarrassed now. “I guess I sound very naive to you.”

He phrases it differently. “You want to trust.” She wants to trust in her government and in its leaders. She wants to trust that good will conquer evil. That good people will prevail in the end because there is a moral force for good at the root of human progress and human history. Yeah . . . he remembers feeling like that. Before he was complicit.

And so, he feels compelled to encourage her lest she end up cynical and horrifying ambivalent like he is now. More than anything, Vader wants to help this woman who seems so lost. It’s not in his nature to be magnanimous, but he’ll make an exception for her. Maybe because she reminds him of his mother who he failed to save when he had the chance. So he will follow his instincts with Astral and maybe in some small way that will influence things for the better. For her and for him. He’s not looking for redemption—he doesn’t really know what that means in his case and he probably doesn’t want it anyway—but that doesn’t mean he wants to play the role of the bad guy all of the time. He never set out to be the bad guy. He was the good guy who wanted to do things differently.

So he tells her, “The desire to trust is a good thing.” And that’s terribly ironic coming from a deceitful Sith. But he persists. “Don’t change that about yourself. Don’t change who you are in response to Alderaan. Start a new life, begin again. But don’t lose who you are in the process.” Again, he speaks from experience.

“Okay,” she nods as she wipes at her eyes. “I’ll try . . .”

Vader waves a hand over the datapad to shut it off. Then, he returns to the matter that brought him here in the first place. “Did you eat the last cookie?”

Astral pulls herself together and shakes her head no. “There’s plenty. I’ll get them. Milk?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“One or two?” she asks.

“Three,” he answers. And that’s his problem in a nutshell, Vader thinks wryly. Whether it’s cookies or power, he wants too much. He always wants more than he should.

Vader catches Astral smother a smile at his appetite. “Coming right up, my Lord.” A minute later, she is placing a plate of three cookies and a glass of milk before him as she bids him goodnight.

As she makes to leave, he stops her with a warning. “Don’t go join the Rebels when you leave here, Astral. Then I’ll have to kill you. I don’t want to kill you.”

It weirdly comes out a bit like an endearment, maybe because he genuinely likes this woman. She doesn’t know one end of a blaster from the other, and yet she has a valiant streak. But not all fighters wield weapons of war, and you don’t have to speak loudly to have authority. This woman manages to have gravitas from her demeanor, he has decided. She is reserved and circumspect as a rule. It’s why that impulsive hug she gave him had surprised them both.

“This war could tear the galaxy apart,” he foretells. “And that will be an incredible waste. Don’t throw your life away for some damn fool idealistic crusade.” In other words, don’t be me, he thinks.

She nods in that polite way of hers. “Yes, my Lord. Goodnight, my Lord.”

Three cookies later, he’s preoccupied with how to respond to that Rebel princess’ call to arms. After much thought and a few practice recordings with his helmet on, Vader issues his rebuttal. Bypassing the normal Imperial PR channels, he turns it loose on the holonet. He won’t give Sheev’s handlers a chance to edit him.

The message is concise and terse. He condemns the terrorist Rebels who seek to cover up their war crime by blaming the destruction of Alderaan on the Empire. He will hunt those shameless cowards to the ends of the galaxy if need be, so that all Imperial citizens will be safe from their senseless violence. Then, he publicly commits to bringing to justice that Rebel pilot who blew up the Imperial orbital research facility—that’s apparently how Sheev is now describing the Death Star.

All in all, it’s vintage him. Because when it comes to public speeches, he’s a man of few words, and most of them are biting. But hopefully the unspoken messages are equally clear. First, to the galaxy: Lord Vader is alive and well and he’s pissed. And to that maybe-Jedi Rebel pilot with the Force: he’s got a target on his back. Check six o’clock because Darth Vader is on your tail. And, just in case down the line Sheev ever gets any ideas about upgrading Apprentices by turning the Rebel pilot Dark, Vader intends to make this manhunt very public. When he gets this Luke guy’s full name and face, he’s going to plaster the galaxy with it. That way, Sheev will have a hard time explaining how public enemy number one is his new second in command. As usual, Vader plays both offense and defense. For his boss is as much his enemy as his ally.

His only allies are the trio here at his castle. Vanee who would do anything for him. Levy who likes him far more than he lets on. And Astral who hugs him. He’ll probably miss Astral when she’s gone, Vader realizes. Even heartsick as she is currently over Alderaan, something about that woman changes the energy in the room for the better. In all her flailing need to make sense of the situation, Astral manages to make him feel far more guilty than any shouting invective by Princess Organa ever could. That’s what these righteous finger-pointing, tongue-wagging Rebels don’t seem to understand—you can’t shame someone by yelling at them. You shame someone by convincing them to yell at themselves. Sad eyed Astral does just that. She has suffered much but she can still summon compassion for his suffering. It makes him wish, for her sake and for his, that he could be the champion she seeks. Because some small part of Darth Vader still wants to save the galaxy. To be the Chosen One who lives up to the hype and makes a real difference.


	8. chapter 8

“Hello, my Lord.” Astral looks up and smiles as Lord Vader enters the room. It’s so good to see him walking without a cane for assistance. He’s upright and standing tall even if he still moves slowly. When he’s especially tired, she’s noticed he drags his left leg a bit. Like today.

“Where’s Vanee?” The man is gruff as usual. There’s never any small talk. Lord Vader dispenses with the pleasantries and gets right to the point. But Astral has gotten used to it by now. His default setting seems to be annoyed and grumpy, although she’s noticed that his spirits improve as his recovery progresses. “Where is Vanee? I need Vanee,” he complains.

“Didn’t you know? He went on another supply run,” Astral answers. “This time he swears he has the credits. Dr. Levy made him promise not to get arrested.”

“Did he go to a new supply depot this time?”

“I certainly hope so.”

Lord Vader grunts. Then he looks her over and demands, “What are you doing?”

“Do you require assistance, my Lord? How may I help?” Astral immediately jumps up from the couch.

“Stand down, sit down,” he orders testily. Then, for good measure he gives her a scowl. “I don’t need your help. I want to know what you are doing.”

Yep, he’s in a bad mood today for sure, Astral thinks. She takes a page out of Vanee’s playbook and humors him. So, she dutifully answers, “I’m reading a review of a new sculpture that was just installed in a plaza on Coruscant.” Astral holds up the datapad she’s using to display the photo. “There’s a lot of public art on that world. I’m making a list of all the pieces I want to go see. I’ve been there many times over the years, but never for an extended period.”

Lord Vader’s yellow eyes narrow and he barks at her again. “Does that mean you’re getting excited about leaving me?”

Astral blinks, wondering how to answer that question diplomatically. She settles on self-effacement. “My Lord, I’m a terrible rehab nurse.”

“Agreed. And I am a terrible patient.”

He’ll get no argument from her on that point. “If the credits are flowing again, doesn’t that mean you will get your regular staff back soon?” she wonders aloud. “Then you won’t need me.” As it is, these days she mostly sits around. In six weeks, Lord Vader has progressed past the point of needing round-the-clock care. And as he becomes increasingly self-sufficient, he no longer requires Vanee within earshot as personal valet either. Things are considerably more relaxed at the castle these days. Frankly, Astral is terribly bored.

“The credits are from Milo. I doubt Sheev authorized them.”

“But how—”

“Milo is as slippery as they come. I don’t trust him.”

Astral is confused. “But isn’t he helping you?”

“He’s meddling. Milo loves to meddle.”

“Oh.”

“I still have need of you as rehab nurse,” Lord Vader informs her now. “Don’t get any ideas about stealing the freighter and making a run for it with the paintings. You are not dismissed until I say so.”

That scenario makes her smile sheepishly. “I can’t fly, remember?”

“You should learn. Get Vanee to teach you.”

“Whatever for?”

“Everyone at the castle needs to know how to fly,” he snaps. “The only escape route here is by ship unless you want to jump into a lava field.” She sees his brow furrow as he complains, “Get some life skills, Astral. Something beyond reading and writing about liberal arts. There’s a war breaking out—get your head out of a book! You need to know how to shoot and how to fly so you can take care of yourself. A woman on her own needs to depend on herself.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The lecture isn’t over. Lord Vader continues his warning. “You should not assume that as a civilian you will be safe. Especially on Coruscant. In the last war, there was plenty of fighting there.”

“Yes, my Lord. I know.”

“Do you?” he challenges. He’s particularly prickly today. Almost like he’s spoiling for a fight. And since there’s only her and Dr. Levy around to choose from, Astral apparently drew the short straw. She’s the one he’s venting on. “Coruscant was the most fierce space battle I’ve ever been in,” Lord Vader snarls. “Ships were falling out of orbit onto the city below. I got lucky and managed to land the crashing ship I was on.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Astral gives an obligatory nod and ventures softly, “It’s very bad today, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer. This stalwart warrior never admits to pain. She should know better by now than to ask.

But wanting to help, she again offers assistance. “Is there anything I can do to make it easier?”

He still doesn’t answer. But his silence is pretty much confirmation. Astral now starts fishing for information. “Are your left toes still numb?”

“They’re a little better,” he replies. “The sensation comes and goes.”

“Good. Would you like to sit for a bit? To talk some?” She pats the sofa beside her. And he looks a moment as if he would like to accept. But then, he thinks better of it and declines.

“I need to stand. It builds stamina.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I stand for hours on the bridge of my star destroyer. Leaders must be visible.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I can’t sit and talk. I’m not a man who has time to sit and talk. I have an Empire to run.”

“Absolutely,” she immediately accepts the grouchy rebuff.

But he doesn’t move. He just stands there. Talking to her.

They both know that he has been frozen out of the day-to-day administration of the Empire now that Lord Vader is in extreme disfavor with his Master. Vanee has worried aloud to Astral that is a very bad sign. No one wants Lord Sidious to get the idea that he can run the Empire singlehandedly without an Apprentice. Plus, now that Lord Vader would be capable of some light work, it would probably be a welcome distraction. For as bored as Astral is now, she can only imagine how bored Lord Vader is. He has likely spent the last six weeks brooding about all the things he could be doing.

So, Astral takes the lingering Darth Vader as her cue to keep talking. Maybe he didn’t come looking for a fight, but instead wanted company? All along since that awful flight from Coruscant to Mustafar, Vanee has consistently employed distraction as a tool to help his Master cope. Lord Vader’s doing that now himself, Astral belatedly realizes. But he’s too proud to ask for company because that would mean admitting to pain. Poor guy.

Well, Astral has the perfect distraction. “Would you like to see the paintings?”

“Are they here?”

“Yes. We unloaded them off the freighter before Vanee left.” Astral is taking no chances that Vanee might get himself into trouble again. After his last disastrous supply trip, she had been envisioning all sorts of calamities, from the freighter and its contents getting impounded to an outright theft. “It was while you and the doctor were doing your morning regimen,” she explains. “I needed to check them for damage, so we went ahead and unloaded them. After Vanee left, I unpacked them. They’re all fine,” she says with great relief.

“Where are they?”

“Downstairs in the vault.”

“In the vault?”

“Yes. They are very valuable, my Lord. Vanee said they belonged down there with the treasures of the Jedi and the Sith.”

“Hardly,” Lord Vader sniffs. “But let’s see them.”

He begins his slow, deliberate steps towards the elevator. Astral jumps up to join him, careful to match her pace and stride to his. Does he know what the paintings are about? Astral begins tentatively. “I don’t know if you remember our conversation on the way here about the artist . . . ” Lord Vader had been in such terrible shape back then.

But he remembers. “He’s a clone.”

“Yes. From the 501st Legion of the Grand Army of the Republic.”

That information gets his attention. “Tell me his name again.” Astral responds but evidently the name doesn’t ring a bell. “Tell me his clone number,” Lord Vader persists. But again, he fails to place the man. He looks disappointed. 

“My Lord, these paintings are a series of tableaux from a campaign in the Outer Rim. The Republic invaded a Separatist world along an important trade route to regain control of nearby hyperspace lanes.”

“Is that your way of saying you are about to show me Felucia?” he guesses.

“Yes.” As they enter the elevator, Astral turns to Lord Vader for a quick disclaimer. “I won’t sugarcoat it. These works are tough stuff. There’s a reason the museum at first shied away from showing them.”

“Tough how?”

“The artist remembered Felucia as an alien hellhole where many of his brother clones died needlessly. He painted this series to remember their sacrifice and their suffering. My Lord, he felt strongly that history not view the clone troopers as mere numbers.”

“They were people.”

“Yes. But there is a real tendency to equate them with the soulless droids they fought. And so, to make sure that he depicted their humanity, the artist painted for shock value in some instances. Sir, you might not wish to—”

“I want to see them.”

“Of course, but if they are too much—”

“They won’t be.” Darth Vader is matter of fact now as he reminds her, “I have killed plenty in my time. I’m no stranger to seeing dead men up close. I know all about the horrors of war.”

“Yes, of course, but several are exceedingly graphic—"

Darth Vader stops her with a pointed look, a raised hand, and a resigned statement that makes her cringe. “Astral, if I can look in the mirror, then I can look at this.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she whispers back for lack of anything better to say. Because this is Mustafar Castle where pity is forbidden and tears are discouraged. The home of a broken, battered man who remains alive because he’s too stubborn to succumb. And so, perhaps it is fitting that these paintings are shown here first to a fellow veteran who has seen his own share of death and suffering. Maybe Darth Vader is the perfect audience, she reconsiders.

Astral must look positively cowed because now he smirks down at her, “You’re the squeamish one, remember?” It’s his version of teasing, she’s learned.

They exit the elevator into the basement level of the castle. This is a special facility, Astral now knows, with ultra-secure precautions to protect the contents. Vanee explained that the vault contains the loot from Jedi Temples as well as Sith religious relics. Astral had no interest in any of that, of course. She is concerned only that the ten crates of borrowed paintings be adequately protected. After all, they are insured for four hundred seventy-three million credits. But Vanee had assured her that the vault is designed to withstand exterior bombardment, immersion in Mustafar’s lava, and even ejection into space. And that housing is a vast upgrade from a freighter sitting undefended with shields down on the castle landing pad. Astral had leapt at the chance to store them in what Vanee affectionately calls the ‘Vader Vault.’

The paintings each have been released from their crates. They hover at eye level surrounded by a protective shield. It’s hardly an exhibit space, but it’s doable. “This is not the best way to view them,” Astral apologizes in advance to her host, “but you can get a general impression. The lighting in here is a bit dim. That obscures some of the mixed media details in the jungle scenes.”

Lord Vader doesn’t react. He simply steps forward to look at the first painting and orders, “Tell me what you know about Felucia.”

Okay . . . Astral thinks back to the Clone Wars history she researched extensively. “It’s a Rim planet that changed hands during the war. Initially, it was a Republic world with a medical station in orbit. But the Separatists destroyed the station and Felucia became the headquarters of the Commerce Guild. The Republic made several attempts to regain the world with little success. They encountered all sorts of bizarre and deadly obstacles. Some were indigenous to the planet, and others were traps set by the Separatists. From what I read, the fighting was fierce. The world was still in Separatists hands when the war ended.”

“Correct.”

“By then, many civilians were dead and the jungle ecosystem was severely damaged. The water supply was poisoned for years afterwards by the Separatists’ scorched earth strategy. Casualties on both sides were high and included all ranks. From clone troopers, to Republic army officers, to Jedi Knights. By all accounts, it was some of the most brutal fighting of the war under very hostile conditions.”

“Correct. The Outer Rim Sieges were a disaster for the Republic.”

“You will see all of that depicted in the paintings,” Astral reports. “The artist said that the clones fought their environment as much as they fought the enemy. There were flesh eating diseases and hungry alien beasts to contend with. It put them at a great disadvantage. None of that affected the droid army, of course.”

“Correct.”

Astral pivots from the historical context to the paintings themselves now. Standing at Lord Vader’s right shoulder, she instructs, “The composition here is what to focus on. See the face of the trooper who runs toward the viewer? He has his helmet off. That’s very important in this artist’s work. He always shows one trooper with his helmet off for the viewer to focus on while the rest have the blank faces of their uniform. You experience those men through their body language only. But we are meant to experience the emotion of the man whose bare face we see. He is the message of the painting and he always looks directly at the viewer. It demands a response. Here, the subject is fleeing in terror of that rancor beast devouring his brother clone.”

Lord Vader makes no comment. He looks his fill and walks to the next one.

“This time, the eye is drawn to the dying man,” Astral narrates. “He has his helmet off while his friend attempts to tourniquet his severed leg. See the pain and the fear in his face? The artist was the friend trying to help. This painting, like all the rest, is autobiographical. These are highly personal memories of emotional trauma.”

They move to the next painting. Then, the next. Lord Vader doesn’t betray any emotion. If he’s listening to her sparse commentary, he doesn’t acknowledge it. There are long periods of silence when the only sound in the vault is his respirator cycling. But the quickening wheeze tells Astral that Lord Vader is far from unmoved like he pretends.

These days, he wears the suit without the helmet. Even so, his expressions remain largely hidden behind his oxygen mask. She has learned to read the cues from the rest of his face. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes that suggest humor. The lowered, furrowed brow that betrays pain or anger. The single cheek that lifts for one of his lopsided smirking half-smiles. Usually, Astral can divine how he’s feeling. Except now. Now he looks blank. And that in itself is revealing because this man doesn’t bother with a poker face.

In a low tone, she speaks up. “I can see that this is upsetting you. My Lord, it’s not necessary to continue.”

“It is.”

“But—“

He shuts her down. “I want to see them all.”

So, they continue. He looks at the paintings and she looks at him. Yes, Astral thinks, this is the face of a man who privately opposed the Death Star. This is the face of a man who is far from indifferent to mass murder and suffering. Maybe because he himself fights so hard to stay alive and he suffers for it greatly. Except no one can see that behind the angular, shiny black mask. The galaxy just sees the legendary ruthless enforcer of the Empire. They assume he’s heartless and cruel. They don’t see the toll those acts take on his soul. But Astral does now. Just looking at his blank, lost expression speaks volumes. It’s like Lord Vader is diminished somehow as he views these works.

It’s not at all what she expected. And Astral doesn’t like it. Maybe this is bringing back too many memories best left in the past.

“My Lord, let’s stop. These paintings are very evocative. And the subject matter is hard for so many reasons. Truly, they are disturbing. You’re not the only one who has this reaction—“

He ignores her. “What’s this one called?”

She gives him the title and explains, “They are mostly named with the numbers of the clone troopers whose faces we see. It was artist’s way of paying homage to their humanity. To make a record of their experiences in his works. They were born a number, but they fought and died as real men.”

She tells him, “I had the foremost expert on the Clone Wars from Coruscant University coming to lead a panel discussion on the politics and history of the period. He wrote a good essay for the catalog. It was about all the opportunities the Senate had to avoid war in the decades leading up to the Separatist Crisis. Seeing the history laid out like that was eye opening,” she recalls. “Neither side was willing to listen to the other’s concerns. Those attitudes made war inevitable in the long run. And that’s just so frustrating. That it was preventable makes it all seem like such a stupid waste.” Astral sighs and muses, “I guess when people stop listening to one another, democracy fails. It becomes ‘us’ versus ‘them,’ and there’s no willingness to compromise.”

“No.” Her comment provokes a strong reaction from the heretofore mostly silent Lord Vader. He whirls and hisses, “Wars are not a failure to listen! Put all that trite rhetoric out if your head. Wars are conflicts that cannot be compromised no matter who talks and for how long. Maybe it’s because one side is unreasonable, or maybe both sides are unreasonable, or maybe the issues are unreconcilable. But the Senate never solved any problems. It only made them worse.” He is vehement and she is taken aback.

“This is why we don’t negotiate with terrorists. It is pointless! The Rebels won’t compromise and neither will Sheev. Each side has a view of the future that is fundamentally incompatible with the other. That means war. And war means death and suffering.” Lord Vader gestures to the painting before them showing a clone trooper being mowed down by a battle droid. “War means this. Over and over and over again.”

“The Death Star was supposed to prevent this from happening again,” he contends. “Stupidly, we envisioned the next war would be like the last war. That it would have declared sides and known territories so we could use the weapon to obliterate the opponent and end things. That was the goal: to end things quickly. The Clone Wars dragged out far too long, in too many places. They spread misery far and wide. Disrupting system economies and spilling refugees everywhere. We were trying to prevent that from reoccurring. At last, we had brought order to the galaxy and we were going to enforce it.” Lord Vader shakes his head with bitter ruefulness. “Like so many things, the Death Star seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Astra is bitter now too. Bitter at the foolishness of it all. Because how could anyone think a planet killing weapon was useful?? “You cannot kill your way to peace.”

He disagrees. “That’s exactly what war is! You fight until one side wins and the other side dies or gives up. Killing is the point of war, Astral. The Death Star was designed to make it shorter and more contained. To limit the suffering.”

“So you really were prepared to do things like Alderaan, weren’t you?” she accuses.

“If necessary, yes. If it would achieve a benefit worth the cost,” he admits. “But this revolt won’t be like the last revolt. The Rebels aren’t going to urge systems to secede. They will stick to their terrorist tactics. This will be asymmetrical guerrilla warfare. They will strike and run. It’s all they can do. I’m sorry for your world. It did not deserve its fate. But this,” Lord Vader gestures again to the paintings of bloody carnage, “puts it in context.”

“I see,” she seethes. Astral flashes her host an icy, resentful glare. She is not yet ready to view Alderaan as a historical event to be debated objectively. She cannot separate herself from the emotion of it all. The heartbreak of loss, the shock of the betrayal by her government, and the sense of futility to prevent a reoccurrence. Because the Empire is rotten at its core with Sheev Palpatine as Emperor, and even the mighty Darth Vader can’t stop him.

Lord Vader must see her consternation because he steps closer now. Unexpectedly, he offers a gloved hand to her in a silent gesture of friendship. Warily, she accepts and he grips tight with a squeeze. Lord Vader turns back to the painting and they stand there together hand in hand before the graphic artwork as he speaks.

“I don’t know if you can understand this,” he says slowly, “but the Clone Wars were my Alderaan. This is where my disillusionment began. This is how I came to see that the Republic, the Senate, even the Jedi Order needed to end. Ultimately, this is why I became Sith.”

Yes, she thinks she gets it. Astral nods.

“It’s true that I wanted power. But I wanted to use that power make things better. For myself and for the galaxy. It was never power for the sake of power. That’s the difference between me and Sheev.”

And this too she believes. For Lord Vader seems to have garnered very little personal gain for his bargain with his boss. As far as Astral can tell, his reign as Lord Vader seems to have resulted mostly in loss. But she believes him when he says he wants to improve things. His intentions are good, even if in some things like the Death Star they were in error. It’s an error he freely admits, she reminds herself. And that means something too. Not all leaders admit to being wrong.

So, she grips his hand back. And that’s when he shifts to slide that hand around her shoulders. It’s a comforting, encouraging posture. The side hug of a parent to a child, or maybe a friend to a friend. Nothing uncomfortable or confining. Nothing creepy or threatening. Just a brief show of understanding and support. Astral looks up in surprise just as he pulls back It’s over in two seconds. Like it never happened.

But it’s yet another brief glimpse into the psyche of the man Dr. Levy and Vanee accurately describe as complicated. Strangely enough, Lord Vader without the helmet is more enigmatic than ever. For with the mask and the suit on, he plays a role. Like he did last week with that Intelligence officer. Well, maybe it’s not entirely a ruse. Some of the public persona of Imperial hatchet man Darth Vader is true. But that’s not all he is. Gazing at him now, Astral thinks him so much more.

Because for all his impressive stoicism and penchant for blunt tough talk, Darth Vader is at times very sensitive. Even vulnerable. Like she herself feels very vulnerable right now. It’s more than just his broken body. It’s his broken heart and pervasive sense of failure. And also, his stunted desire to do the right thing. For as ridiculous as it sounds for a leader who outright lies to the galaxy, Astral believes that Lord Vader cares about truth. That he wants justice. But he is hamstrung in his ability to achieve those goals. The man is in a rut. He knows it, too.

“Is this it? Are there more to see?” He looks to her.

The question breaks her reverie. “There’s one more. Over here.” Astral directs him around the corner into a small alcove with a bunch of blue glowing cubes piled in boxes. “We couldn’t fit it in with the rest. It is too large. And, anyway, this one is different,” she points out the obvious. “This time, the subject whose face we see isn’t a clone. All the clones wear their helmets—"

“Fuuuuuck.”

The curse shuts her up. Never once in all his painful, discouraging moments has Astral heard Lord Vader swear. It shocks her. He’s usually so dignified. He’s long been a public figure who likely knows that his words will be repeated and maybe reprinted for others to see.

Lord Vader walks closer for a better look. He’s focused on the Jedi general who faces the viewer. The man stands leading his clone troopers, lit blue lightsaber in hand. His jaw is set and his face is tense. Whatever odds the Jedi is facing, they don’t look good from his perspective.

“Fuck.” The atypical curse escapes again. Softer this time. And, of course, that makes sense. This Jedi must be an old enemy of Darth Vader’s. Whatever the history is here, it’s clearly personal. Lord Vader looks like he’s seeing a ghost. He’s clearly not happy about it.

“That’s Jedi General Anakin Skywalker,” Astral awkwardly volunteers what he probably already knows. “He was a war hero of the late Republic and the commander of the artist’s legion. The artist said all the clones loved him. Skywalker died in the Purge. I . . . er . . . guess you know that . . . ” For all Astral knows, Lord Vader killed the man himself.

But he shakes his head. “He’s not dead. Not yet.”

“Oh.” Astral digests this information. Skywalker must be one of those few important Jedi who Lord Vader says still survive. And now, she’s curious. “Did you know him?”

Lord Vader doesn’t answer. He walks even closer to the painting as he stares.

“He was a Jedi Master on the High Council,” Astral supplies more facts from the exhibit catalog she worked weeks on.

Lord Vader corrects her. “He was on the Council but he was not given the rank of Master.”

“I thought they were all Masters on the High Council.” That’s what her research showed. But, admittedly, there isn’t much information surviving on the Jedi hierarchy from firsthand sources.

“They were all Masters but him.”

“Because he was so young?”

“Because they were afraid of him. Afraid of what he would become.” Lord Vader lifts a hand as if to touch the face of the Jedi in the suspended painting. He gets too close and the security shield around the artwork crackles and pops as it repels his touch.

Nervous Astral flinches. “Careful! It’s very fragile!”

Lord Vader ignores her. He’s still transfixed by the Jedi general. “The Jedi didn’t want to train him initially. They found every excuse they could. But in the end, they decided to train him so that they could control him.”

“Oh.” 

“Everyone wants to control the Chosen One.”

Astral isn’t really following. But the strange intensity of Lord Vader’s reaction gets her curious. She turns back to the painting to take another look. She immediately recognizes the sympathetic portrayal by the artist. He had admired his Jedi general—that’s very clear in the heroic, back-to-the-wall, against-all-odds depiction of the handsome hero. The man might be a little doomed from his expression, but he is defiant nonetheless. Clearly, he wasn’t going down without a fight. Something about his eyes looks familiar. The man was bold, Astral decides, like Lord Vader. “Did you know him?” she asks again, glancing up and hoping for the story.

“Yes.”

Astral looks to him questioningly to prompt more information.

There is a long, uncomfortable pause before Lord Vader finally grinds out, “He’s me.”

“He’s—whaat??” she yelps. This is unexpected. Astral nearly chokes. “You’re Anakin Sky—“

“That name no longer has any meaning for me!” Lord Vader booms over her as he waves a gloved finger under her nose.

His tone and volume silence her immediately. But Astral instinctively knows the words for the blatant lie they are. For the meaning of Anakin Skywalker is written all over Lord Vader’s face. He looks all at once distraught and angry, sad and hurt. And now, Astral is very sorry she ever showed him these paintings. She never dreamed they would be this personally affecting. Oh Gods, she worries, what has she done? And what secret has she just revealed that she should not know? The mystery of Darth Vader just got deeper and more complicated. Yes, this man is far more than his public image would suggest.

“That’s you?” she whispers as she involuntarily backs up a step and raises a hand to her mouth.

“That’s another man from another life. He’s not me,” Lord Vader hastens to refute his earlier words. “He’s not me,” he claims again louder this time in the same booming voice as his previous lie.

Astral blinks as she retreats again. “That’s you,” she whispers incredulously, her hands to her cheeks. “You’re the hero general the artist thought was murdered in the Purge.”

“That was me. Not anymore. Anakin Skywalker is dead,” he growls. “Darth Vader lives now.”

Astral can’t begin to unpack the layers of denial in that declaration of identity. She certainly won’t argue with Lord Vader on this topic. The man looks far too unhinged now for reason. His yellow eyes are snapping at her. Warning her. Threatening her. He looks aggressive and yet defensive. Like he is cornered and ready to fight. This is a man who appears capable of anything and everything, for he is exposed and vulnerable. Suddenly, there is an air of desperation about him. Like he needs help.

Oh Gods, she realizes. It’s the exact same expression as the man in the painting. The artist had captured him completely.

Now Astral can’t stop herself. Her eyes dart past Lord Vader to the depiction of the young man from twenty years previous. This must be him before his injuries. Astral has viewed this painting many times before, but never with that knowledge. She has an eye trained for detail. So she searches the Jedi’s face trying to locate a resemblance. But beyond the eyes, which have now changed to yellow, she finds none. Maybe there are other vestiges of Lord Vader’s former self lurking in his current face, but she cannot pinpoint them. Even the faint scar he wore above one eye in his youth has disappeared, subsumed into the rest of his disfigurement. It was distinctive before, but now it gets lost in context. In truth, he is unrecognizable. The face of the handsome, courageous Republic Jedi is ruined. He’s a pale, bald, scarred, burned husk of the promise he once was.

And that realization brings her low. Because this isn’t like an old woman looking back wistfully on a picture of herself as a youthful beauty. This isn’t the normal toll of time that evidences the seasons of life. This transformation isn’t natural and normal. It is the result of extreme pain, disfigurement, and suffering. Of a body forged in flames and remade in wires and steel. The sense of loss is simply enormous. Uncomfortable Astral immediately finds herself blinking back tears.

“That was you?” Even she can hear the note of disbelief in her whisper. And wait—she didn’t mean it like that.

“I was not always this damaged,” he responds, his voice heavy with resignation.

Astral has heard that line from Lord Vader before, but the painting puts it in full context. For seeing his former self—so vibrant, so young, and so handsome—the magnitude of his physical transformation becomes clear. The only part of him that remains unchanged is his right hand. Astral sees now that his gloved sword hand in the painting must have evidenced his original amputation. It’s the right arm he lost to Count Dooku as a teen.

This moment is why Lord Vader had looked so apprehensive when she first removed his mask. This moment is why there is only one mirror in the castle living quarters and it’s tucked away in the unused wife’s bedroom. Lord Vader probably feels like a monster. Except he’s not a monster. He’s achingly human despite all his metal parts and deformed body. He says he’s more machine than man, but that is a lie. He’s all man in every way that matters.

His plight moves her. Astral has become very invested in Lord Vader from all her help for his recovery. She’s grown to admire him a bit, even if she’s not sure if she always likes him. The man is just so strangely compelling. Gruff as he is, Lord Vader has an intense, dark charisma. Is it his existential angst? Is it his deep depression? Is it his adamant stoicism? Astral cannot pinpoint his appeal. But in moments like this, it is undeniable.

And so, her words fall out without conscious thought: “I’m sorry . . . I’m so, so sorry . . . “ Astral chokes out apologies as she moves forward to envelop him in her arms. She doesn’t know what else to say. So, she will show her emotion rather than speak it.

Astral fits herself against his leather and armor-clad body, careful to avoid his chest plate buttons. Her face tucks in next to his shoulder pauldron. She encircles him with her arms snuggled beneath the heavy cape. For all his uniform’s hard edges and rough textures, it’s surprisingly natural feeling as an embrace

She holds him tight, wishing she could make it better, but she knows she can’t. No one can. But maybe in some way this makes it more bearable. For if there was ever a man who needed a hug, it is Lord Vader, she thinks.

She’s overstepping again. Crossing boundaries to invade his physical space and his private life. But this moment—this reveal of his former self—is important and cannot be downplayed. It’s a secret she accidentally stumbled upon. She didn’t go seeking this knowledge and he didn’t have to share it. But here it is. She can’t ignore it. To do so would seem disrespectful. Like it makes light of his suffering. Like it doesn’t do justice to the uncomfortable truth he has just confided.

This time, Lord Vader hugs back. She feels his arms reciprocate. One hand claims her waist. The other hand clasps her head to him, burrowing fingers into her hair. Yes . . . he wants this. This is the sympathy he pretends not to need. And hopefully, some of the acceptance he refuses to give himself.

She has wondered from time to time what his real name is. Why even Vanee without fail uses his honorific or title. At first, she assumed it was a sign of formal respect. A means to keep the hierarchy of master and servant. But the longer and deeper she has become immersed in the life of this Sith, it has occurred to her that there is precious little indication of him as a real person. Even his Master Lord Sidious has a given name and a surname. But not the mysterious Darth Vader. And now, she knows why. Because this stalwart defender of the Empire was once one of the late Republic’s greatest heroes. And a Jedi, no less.

The implications are enormous.

“Anakin . . . “ She says his name into his chest. It’s a good name. A strong name. A name for a hero. A name for a man you can depend on to do the right thing. “Anakin,” she whispers the name again.

She feels him stiffen.

“Don’t—“ he warns, his voice raspy and close above her ear. “I’m not that man anymore.”

But he is. In her eyes, the injuries mean nothing. For a while now, she has seen past them. The shock of his appearance wore off long ago. Then, Astral stopped seeing Lord Vader for his flaws and started seeing him as a person. She wants him to know that.

So she says it again. “You’re still Anakin.” No matter what he looks like.

But he misunderstands and so does she.

Abruptly, he thrusts her back. Lord Vader is angry at her insistence. So, he too persists. “That name no longer has any meaning for me,” he thunders. It comes out a growl with true menace.

He’s hurt, so he rejects her.

She’s stung at his rebuff.

Astral watches in confused silence as he turns on heel and slowly marches away. His cape sways as he drags his left leg behind him with frosty dignity.

She is left behind to stare hard at the portrait he clearly never knew was painted. She puzzles over its meaning. Astral has long believed that there is truth in art. So how much truth is there in this painting still? How much of Anakin Skywalker remains in Lord Vader? According to him, none. But Astral is not so sure.


	9. chapter 9

He would kill her—he probably should kill her--but he’s beginning to like her. A lot. Probably too much. And so, though Vader’s first instinct is to whip out his sword and kill the offensive painting and to kill Astral too, he resists . . . barely.

The painting is spared because it is tucked away with the many important secrets in his vault. Astral can have the other paintings back, but she can’t have that one. That one remains here.

And Astral? He shows Astral mercy because she had no idea what she had done. And, like always, in her own way she was trying to help. She’s a good person and there is not enough goodness in his life. Besides, killing her won’t change the past. Neither will destroying the painting, for that matter. And so, in an impulse of magnanimity unbecoming a Sith, Vader shows great forbearance.

He’s sheepish about that choice. Sheepish about the uncomfortable reveal of his past, too. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself. He doesn’t want judgement. He doesn’t have to answer to anyone other than his Master. So, he decides to ignore the episode in the vault altogether. And that means ignoring Astral as well. But that task is harder than it sounds. Vader has a soft spot for that woman. It’s probably his loneliness showing, but he can’t help it.

It all began with that hug a few weeks back. Astral’s first hug had him contemplating ridiculous notions of friendship. It was a foolhardy idea. The Sith don’t have friends. They have allies and enemies. And that is the problem, really. Astral Sidhu doesn’t fit neatly into either category. She isn’t one of the anonymous female officers and analysts who march around his star destroyer and carry out his orders. Neither is she the enemy. Astral might hate the Emperor for Alderaan, but she’s not the Rebel princess they waited too long to execute on the Death Star. Astral is no radical insurgent. She’s far too nice for that. Plus, she doesn’t know one end of a blaster from another. She’s hardly a threat.

That puts Astral in a category by herself. The ‘maybe friend’ category. The novelty of that potential role made Vader want to help her. And, yes, maybe his guilt over Alderaan played a part too. He was determined to see her launched into a new life on Coruscant with the mindset she needs to succeed. Until the second hug, that is.

That second hug in the vault has got him thinking even more ridiculous notions. It raises up long suppressed urges. It kindles old longings. He knows they are best left in the past. But he can’t help himself. He indulges in them nightly while she sleeps in the next room. And that puts Astral Sidhu in an entirely new category. It’s a category he doesn’t have a name for, but it’s not friends.

Wholly by accident, somehow Astral Sidhu has become the first woman in twenty years to know the closely guarded details of his life. She knows who he is. Worse still, she knows who he was. That’s dangerous knowledge. Others have died for that knowledge. But Astral knows far more than just that. She knows the truth of Alderaan. She knows the full extent of his injuries. She even knows he was born a slave in the Rim. What’s more alarming, she knows he has two lost children that his Master isn’t even aware of. The grieving woman eggs him on to treason, for Force sake. And instead of making him want to kill her to silence her, it makes Vader want to tell her more. To unburden himself fully. To confide more truth. To help her understand his point of view. For if any woman alive can understand him, he thinks Astral Sidhu might. Because once when he was very low, she encouraged him. It reminded him of his mother. His mother was full of compassion too.

But if the shock of coming face to face with his former self in that painting is any indication, then he is not up for more conversations with Astral any time soon. Vader isn’t ready for the questions, for the memories, or for the guilt. He doesn’t think he can bear the judgement. To see the disappointment in her eyes. He has disappointed so many people already. Why add to the list? But still . . . Astral intrigues him in ways he cannot suppress.

With the dream of resurrecting Padme now abandoned, he’s lonelier than ever these days. Needy in a way he is embarrassed about. He’s always needed people. It’s why the ‘no attachments’ rule had been impossible. But who would he find at this point in life? What woman could look at him as anything other than a hideous monster? Who could care for a man such as him? Most especially if they knew all his misdeeds. The best he could hope for is some woman who might tolerate his infirmity in exchange for the reflected glory of his power and position. Or maybe some woman who wants to live in the luxury and wealth he could give her. Perhaps she would be some Imperial zealot who sees him as the champion for her cause. And that’s not what he wants. He gets enough of those oily supplicant courtiers on Coruscant as it is. He’s not interested in some hardnosed striver who wants to use him to further her ambitions.

It’s why Astral presents an opportunity. Vader knows he shouldn’t squander it. But he’s as afraid to pursue it as he is to forgo it. He’s normally a bold man, but this is not his area of expertise. He’s never been a ladies man, and this situation brings up all his insecurities.

Because what if she rejects him? Then, he’ll definitely have to kill her.

But what if she accepts him? What then?? Where do they go from here?

Uncertain what to do and afraid to make a mistake, Vader instead decides to focus solely on his recovery. He drags his aching body to his training room each day and swings his sword until he’s exhausted. The physical effort helps to clear his mind. Plus, it might save his life for whenever Sheev’s assassins show up. He won’t go down without a fight. Whether Jedi or Sith, he’s always been a fighter.

But try as he might, Vader cannot escape the beguiling presence of Astral in his castle. Her mental feel in the Force lurks in the corners of his mind. Distracting him. Tempting him. She randomly intrudes on his thoughts and invades his late-night fantasies. Already he worries she could become a dangerous obsession. He thought he was long past this sort of thing. That he no longer would be tempted to attachments. And yet, here he is. Desperately needy for more of Astral’s attention. Self-control has never been his strong suit. So, he lasts only a few days on silent treatment before he gives in and seeks her out. 

When he finds Astral in the kitchen at night, she’s alone and watching that holonet video clip of the Rebel princess again. The video keeps being taken down, but the Rebels re-post it. As it is, the recording has gone viral. It’s way too late to effectively delete it. What’s worse, that Rebel princess has way more hits than his unofficial Imperial response does. And that’s disheartening. It makes him worry that there is far more low level discontent in the Empire than he realized.

  
  
So, he gripes at Astral, “You need to stop watching that.” It comes out a bit harsh even for him. But he’s suddenly nervous. Like some Padawan the day before his trials who is jumpy and high-strung.

  
  
“I know,” Astral responds. But she doesn’t even pretend to press pause, he sees. So much for being harsh. 

  
  
“You need to stop watching that and you need to move on.” Vader says it more forcefully this time as he approaches to loom over her. It’s an intimidating posture that always works. The suit and his tall body are very threatening to most people.

  
  
But not to this woman. Astral is one of very few people who are not afraid of him. In fact, his comment must get under her skin. Because she pauses the datapad and looks up at him. “Like you moved on?“

Her quiet words come out as challenging. She never raises her voice, but she always makes her point. And does she see right through him? Does Astral know how much of his mind and his heart are trapped in the past? Now, he’s the one threatened. He may call himself Darth Vader now, but he hasn’t moved on. Not really. Not in the ways that matter. At this point, he’s not sure if it’s because he can’t do it, or if he just doesn’t want to. 

But that’s beside the point. Moving on is good advice for Astral. Her situation is different. This is one of those ‘do as I say, not as I do’ instances. Moreover, he refuses to be baited. So, Vader blithely takes her response at face value. “Yes. You need to move on. There are no solutions there. That princess is only going to get herself and a lot of other people killed.”

Astral nods. 

But he’s not finished. “Put it away,” he orders. “No more sedition at my castle.” He’s Darth Vader, for Force sake. What is she thinking playing Rebel recruiting rants in front of him openly? Has familiarity bred contempt? Is he that much of a pushover to Astral now that his Jedi past has been revealed? Does she think that he has sympathies for the Rebels? Because he does not. He’s going to hunt them down and kill them all to prevent another civil war.

Astral wisely turns off the datapad and pushes it away. “Alright,” she relents. 

Satisfied, he begins raiding the kitchen cabinets for cookies. Dr. Levy keeps telling him to put on weight. He lost far too much this time around because pain saps his appetite. And he is fine with more food, but he’s not putting on weight with protein gruel. It’s cookies or nothing, Vader has decided. Cookies by the handful. Cookies that leave crumbs all over his gloves that he can lick off if he wants to. As it is, there is precious little in the way of pleasure in his life. So, cookies it is. 

Astral’s in the green dress today, he notices when he turns back around with cookies in hand. She alternates between the dark purple dress he first saw her in and this green one. No doubt it’s all she owns at this point. You could mark the calendar by her habitual change in clothes. Each day with her lightly painted peaches and cream face, tight side parted hair, and pale lipstick. It’s an austere look. Dignified and ladylike, but all business. Astral Sidhu looks polished and appropriate. She could be a Senator or a banker in her outfits. Come to think of it, this green one is in the style of the white dress that smart mouthed Rebel princess had worn. Yep, he definitely prefers the purple one. 

Astral is looking at him expectantly, so he silently offers her a cookie. 

She eyes it and then him. “Is that a peace offering?”

“It’s a cookie.” 

When she takes it, he wonders a moment whether she would have accepted it if he had said yes. 

  
  
“Do you want a plate?” Astral asks as she stands to reach for one herself. 

“No. Out of the bag is better.”

That response makes her smile for the first time. “I didn’t know Sith Lords had sweet tooths,” she murmurs. 

He harrumphs. “This is the only way I’m sweet.”

She doesn’t disagree. Instead, she changes the topic. “Vanee said you have begun light workouts.”

“Yes.”

“You must be feeling much better.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. I haven’t seen you in a few days. I wondered how you were doing.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. I worried that after—“

“I’m fine,” he cuts her off. The less said about their last conversation, the better. He’s sticking to his plan to ignore it altogether.

Astral frowns and ventures, “You haven’t been avoiding me . . . have you?”

Yes. “No.”

She digests this quick—maybe too quick—response. And now, she suggests softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes. “No. It is the past.”

Does she see that he is torn? She must. Because after a moment of silent mutual munching, Astral goes there anyway. “Who was she?” Astral asks offhand as she takes another bite of cookie. It’s a deceptively casual question fraught with drama.

  
He plays dumb. “Who was who?”

  
  
“Mrs. Skywalker.” 

Vader freezes mid-bite. Just the sound of that name gets his heart racing. It brings up all sorts of unresolved issues best ignored.

But Astral presses. “Tell me about the wife you weren’t supposed to have as a Jedi hero.”

  
Yeah, she picked up on that angle. He knew she would. Astral is smart. So, Vader tries to be casual as he leans back against the counter. Like this is no big deal and he’s not rattled in the least. He nonchalantly deflects the question. “I wasn’t a hero. There were no heroes in the Clone Wars.”

  
“You were a hero,” she persists. “You were the Jedi who saved the Chancellor when the Separatists kidnapped him.”

Oh right. That stupid ruse is still in the history books. He forgot. So much of the official version of the Clones Wars is fiction that even he gets things confused and he was there for all the highlights.

  
  
“Sheev was never in any danger.” Vader brushes it off. “It was a long time ago.”

  
  
“You’re all over the media from back then.“

Vader gives her a quelling glance. “Have you been searching me on the holonet in between watching Rebel propaganda videos?”

“Yes,” she freely admits. “You are presumed dead in the Purge. But you’re not dead because you led the Purge.” She frowns as he tells him, “You turned on your own kind.”

  
He’s unrepentant about it, too. “It was time for the Jedi to end.” He owns his actions. He’s not proud of what he did, but it was necessary. “The Jedi were relentless. There was no other solution. I did the same with the Separatist leaders. I killed them all. It cleaned the slate. No one won the Clone Wars, Astral. Both sides lost. It just . . . ended.” By then, Darth Sidious, who had been playing both sides, decided to wrap things up and consolidate his power. 

  
“No,” Astral counters. “The Sith won the war. Right?”

  
  
Damn this woman for her insightful mind. Very little gets past her But Vader shrugs and eats another cookie. For once, he is less than decisive. “Right. I guess . . . ” He’s not really sure how to view the end of the Republic. Was that a victory, a surrender, or a defeat? And does it even matter? It’s over now. It’s the past. Maybe that’s how he should look at it. Maybe the point is that it happened, and it doesn’t matter how you characterize it.

  
  
“You are a man with a lot of secrets,” Astral observes. 

  
He eyes her for that comment. “You seem to have a way of flushing them out of me.” Then, he takes some small pleasure in warning her, “People have died for that knowledge.” Just so she’ll know what’s at risk. 

“Are you planning to kill me?”

No. “Not unless you make it unavoidable.”

“So—“

“Don’t join the Rebels. Don’t betray my secrets.”

  
  
“I won’t. I will respect your privacy.” Astral is very earnest as she tells him gravely, “You needn’t fear that I will put your past on the holonet. I would never do that, my Lord.”

  
“It probably wouldn’t matter now,” he concedes, wholly undercutting his prior threat. “My life is so preposterous that no one would believe you.”

  
  
“I see.” She moves to put her plate in the sink. Then she washes her hands and makes to exit. “Well, I promise to keep your secrets. I keep my word. You can depend on me.” 

Yes, he knows. Deceitful Sith that he is, Vader respects her honesty. He has no reason to trust this woman, except he trusts her nonetheless.

“Goodnight, my Lord.” She heads for the door. 

And wait—he’s chasing her away. He doesn’t want that. He likes Astral even if he doesn’t want to talk about the past. But he has never really known how to talk to a woman. He was raised Jedi, and flirting wasn’t on the syllabus. His desperate lovesick teenage lines to Padme are cringeworthy in retrospect, even if he meant them completely at the time. But Vader knows better than to try them on Astral. And besides, she doesn’t have that sort of appeal. In this case, he’s not haunted by the kiss Astral should never have given him. It’s more like he’s haunted by the friendly hug. But maybe that’s just his middle age showing. Because he wants something more than forbidden sex from a woman now.

But she’s leaving. She’s leaving fast. So, Vader gets to the point and reverts to an order. “Don’t go.” Well, maybe that was less like a command and more like a whine.

  
Either way, it fails. She half turns to smile perfunctorily and again bids him, “Goodnight.” Then she walks out of the kitchen. 

  
She’s leaving. So, he follows her out into the hallway, calling out information to stall her. “My wife’s name was Padme. Padme Amidala Naberrie.” He can’t believe he’s saying this out loud, but he continues. “She was a child queen of the Naboo. Later the junior Senator from that world.”

  
  
“Oh.” Astral pauses. She turns and looks expectant for more information. 

But Vader clams up. “She . . . I . . . “

“Yes?”

Astral looks at him now like she had looked at him that day in the vault. Like a friend who wants to understand and to help. Not like someone seeking to condemn and find fault. It’s the opening for a full and frank conversation. And now that the topic is broached, the words seem to spill out his mouth. 

“We were all wrong for each other . . . and what we were doing was wrong. We knew it. We even talked about it. How the lies would tear us apart and destroy us. But we did it anyway.” It was stupid. Gloriously stupid. And he would do it again in a heartbeat. Because the sweet torment of it all was exactly what his rash younger self had craved at the time.

“Why?”

  
  
Isn’t obvious? Why does anyone knowingly do something stupid? “Because we couldn’t stop ourselves.” And, wait—that almost came out like a boast.

  
  
Astral is unimpressed. “My ex once fed me a line like that. It’s not that you couldn’t stop yourself, my Lord, it’s that you didn’t want to stop yourself.”

  
  
Yes. “Does it matter?”

  
  
“Yes. Take responsibility.”

  
  
Vader bristles at this chiding, for he has paid dearly for his sins. “I own who I am. I accept what I have done. I live with the legacy of my past every day,” he informs her. 

“I know,” she answers simply.

  
  
And now, he keeps talking as the past becomes present again in his mind. Twenty years later, the memories are still fresh in both good ways and bad. “We rushed into things. It was the context. The consequences were so great that it accelerated the relationship.” Vader explains, “The risks wouldn’t have been worth it for a casual affair.” It was all or nothing where he and Padme were concerned.

“We were different,” Astral offers up her own experience. “Leo and I did everything right to make it last . . . or so I thought . . . “

“Tell me.” Suddenly, he’s as curious of her ex as she is of his. 

Astral thinks a moment before she responds. Clearly, this is as hard for her to discuss as it is for him. “We took it slowly. We lived together before we got engaged. Both our families supported the match. It was sort of the natural progression of things. Our wedding day was perfect,” she recalls gloomily. “It was the culmination I always wanted it to be. Pretty dress, pretty flowers, all our family in attendance . . . It was very hopeful. And utterly conventional. I guess you might say we did every cliché.”

“Our wedding was a secret. We told no one,” he contrasts his experience to hers. “My Jedi Master figured it out eventually, but I don’t think he ever knew that Padme and I were actually married. I think he thought it was an affair.”

“Sounds romantic,” Astral muses.

Yeah, it was at first. “I think that was part of the appeal,” Vader admits. “It was forbidden. Plus, there was a war going on and neither of us knew what the future held. It made us reckless.” It all seems so long ago now. Was he ever so young? So idealistic? So sure of himself? “We did a lot of sneaking around. It was exciting at first, but it got old fast.”

“How did you keep it a secret?”

“That was easier than it sounds. The war kept us apart. I was mostly in the Rim while she was mostly on Coruscant. We didn’t communicate much—it was too risky. There were times we went months without seeing each other.”

“I bet that was hard.”

He nods yes. “She said it wasn’t a problem—she was very independent. But it made for a lot of distance. Not just physical distance . . . .” Padme became increasingly emotionally distant, he remembers. Even then, he worried at times that she stayed with him out of a sense of duty. It was no secret that towards the end of the war they were heading in different ideological directions. But by then, she was pregnant, he was having terrible visions, and things became very complicated.

Vader recalls aloud now, “Living separate lives was a problem. We started wanting different things. The long distance thing doesn’t work. Don’t ever do it,” he counsels.

“Got it.”

“If you’re going to be together, then be together.”

“Right.”

“I couldn’t see it as it was happening,” he admits. “I thought everything would be fine in the end. That she was fine. That we were fine. I was always so happy to see her . . . to take a break from war . . . to get away from the Jedi life.” After Ahsoka quit, he too was thinking of leaving the Order. He had pretty much convinced himself to quit once the war was done. Then he and Padme could go public finally. But that never happened. “I was convinced that when it was all over, things would be better between us,” he sighs.

Astral commiserates. “We lived together our whole marriage, and still we became distant.” Her face is full of emotion as she tells him, “I guess I wasn’t enough. Or maybe I was too much. Too available. Perhaps that’s why he went looking for someone new. Maybe I bored him.”

“How did you find out?” Vader wants to know.

And judging by her expression, these are still hard memories. Slowly, she relates, “I came home early one day and found them together. It was like something out of a cheesy holonet show except it was my life. I was shocked. Utterly blindsided.”

“What did you do?”

“I freaked out.”

“You?”

“I started screaming and crying.”

“I can imagine the crying. I’ve seen the crying. But screaming?”

She gives a little rueful, wry smile. “Shrieking . . . hollering . . . I went a little nuts in the moment.”

“Betrayal can do that to you,” he sympathizes. “I wasn’t at my best the last time Padme and I argued.”

Astral agrees. “No one can hurt you like someone you love. I just lost it.”

“Same here.”

“If I didn’t care so much, I would have handled it better. But it was like I saw my whole life crumbling before my eyes. All the future we had planned . . . it was suddenly gone. I put my faith in him and he let me down.”

“Same here,” Vader joins her bitter lament.

“We tried counseling. Did you do that?”

“No.” He went straight for the chokehold. Violence was his immediate reflex after he’d just come from slaughtering Jedi younglings and Separatist leaders.

“I couldn’t forgive him. I couldn’t trust him. I was so angry. Look at me—I’m still angry.” Astral throws up her hands in frustration. “It’s been years now since I’ve seen him.”

“Where is he now?”

“Dead, I guess.”

“Good,” Vader smirks. “Then I don’t have to kill him.”

“Kill him for what?”

“For cheating on you.” Suddenly, Vader has to know: “Are you sad that he’s dead?”

“Not really.” She flushes. “Is that awful of me? He’s probably the last person I will miss from Alderaan.” Astral looks guilty as she again confesses, “I just couldn’t forgive him. I guess I hold grudge.”

“I would have forgiven Padme,” Vader reveals wistfully. “But I never got the chance.”

Astral gives him an approving look. “You’re a better person than I am, my Lord.”

He snorts, “I’m Darth Vader, remember? I’m a Sith Lord. We’re not known for our virtues.”

“Maybe so. But you’re more forgiving than I am.” Astral gives him another approving look. “You’re a good man, my Lord. Very misunderstood in some ways, I suspect.”

Vader fights the urge to squirm. Boy, has he fooled her. And that’s not how he wants things between them. He wants to be truthful with Astral so she can take or leave the real him. So, he grouses, “Don’t make me out to be someone I’m not. I’m not who you think I am.” Then he reveals the ultimate irony of his decades long quest to revive Padme: “If my wife were here now, she would hate me for what I’ve done. She would be horrified at what I have become.” It’s part of why he was relieved in the end to finally give up his efforts. Ultimately, it avoided more heartbreaking conflict. “She was fine with me killing Separatists, but not killing Jedi. Religion and politics came between us.”

But just thinking about Padme brings up so many bittersweet memories. “She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen,” he reminisces. “And she was far more sophisticated and worldly than the sheltered Jedi boy I was at the time. She would push me away and then reel me back in. Even when we were married, she blew hot and cold. She needed more attention than I could give her.” And he needed more support and trust than she extended.

His gushing testimonial sets Astral off. He has pricked a nerve. "How do you get to be that girl?” Astral demands as she stares him down. “You know, the one who captivates men . . . the one who lures men away from their wives . . . the one who seduces a Jedi priest . . . the one who betrays you and you still love her. Is it just beauty? A hot body, long hair, and full lips? Was she really good in bed or something? I’m not good in bed. Well, I don’t know—how would I know? And it’s not like I go to bed with men any more. It’s been years . . . Oooh," she frets as she flushes bright scarlet red, "this is too much information, isn’t it?"

"Yes." But keep talking, he thinks. He wants to know more.

Her eyes narrow. "Your wife was really special, wasn’t she?"

"Yes."

Astral looks like she feels wholly inadequate by comparison. "Of course, she was! You broke your Jedi vows for her. She must have been amazing. I want to be amazing . . . I want to be that woman." Astral looks miserable now as she rambles. "Instead, I haven’t had a real date in years. Guys swipe right past me. Or they walk right past me. Onto someone else . . . someone younger, prettier, and more amazing like your Senator queen wife. Those heartbreaker, homewrecker, super successful alpha girl types.”

Vader reminds her, "She’s dead.” 

"Even dead, she matters!" Astral argues back. And, she's right. "You know, some of us are just ordinary women. Average women. Not too tall, not too short. Not too pretty, not too ugly. Not too fat, not too slim. Not young, not old. Just average. What about us? I guess average is not amazing. No one ever has undying devotion to average," she grumbles. “Average like me gets dumped when amazing shows up.”

Listening to her insecure outburst of self-pity, Vader is annoyed. "You’re missing the point. Yes, Padme was amazing. But I was the devoted one. You've got this all wrong. You don’t want to be her. You want to find a version of me. The old me," he amends. The man who believed in love and commitment. The man who went to the Dark Side to save his pregnant wife. He foolishly thought he could have it all and along the way he could save the galaxy and balance the Force. That man didn’t have to wear a mask to hide his deformities. He was the young, strong, handsome kid from that picture downstairs.

Astral shakes her head. “There aren’t men like that around anymore. Well, I guess there’s always Vanee . . .” she supposes. She sounds half serious.

Vader glares. “He’s taken.”

“Right. I forgot. He’s married to the Sith.”

“There’s me,” Vader offers up next, mostly to see what she’ll say.

“You’re taken too. Still in love with your late wife. Your amazing late wife,” Astral grouses. “I think I’m jealous, my Lord.”

She eyes him cynically now. “You know that one true love thing you asked about before is crap, right? Because I didn't get one true love. I got a man who cheated on me. It probably wasn’t even the first time. So, I’m still waiting for my great love at forty-four years old. That’s middle age, my Lord. It’s way past the time to get swept off your feet and carried away by passion. I guess it just didn’t happen for me . . .” Her voice trails off with disappointment. “Not all of us get the fairytale ending . . .”

"There’s still time."

"Oh, come on—"

"You can start over on Coruscant."

“No, thanks. I’m done being rejected.”

“Those men are morons.”

“Yeah? Well, there’s a lot of them.“ Astral scowls and sighs. “Listen to me—I sound so old and bitter. I wouldn’t want to date me either.”

He grunts. “I’m the Sith. I’m the bitter one.”

“No, you’re not. Bitter doesn’t want to forgive. Bitter wouldn’t want to bring her back. Vanee said you tried to bring your wife back.”

Vader says nothing. The less said about that all-consuming obsession, the better.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Astral offers awkwardly.

He nods to acknowledge the sentiment. “I failed. I fail at a lot of things,” he sighs.

“Well, at least you got your one true love.”

Again, he doesn’t respond. It’s probably the wrong time to admit that there were days when he wanted to revive Padme just so he could yell at her. Maybe even choke her. And this time, actually kill her. He has a lot of unresolved anger towards Padme still. It’s funny how hindsight makes some things clear, and yet other things remain as murky as ever. But he’s put that resurrection obsession behind him. And that just begs the question . . . what’s next? Is there life after Padme? Are there second chances for a Sith?

Astral frowns at the floor now. “How do we get into these conversations? This is . . . this is . . . entirely inappropriate . . . on so many levels . . . ”

“Yes.”

“We should stop having these conversations.”

“Yes.”

She’s sheepish now. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. My Lord, I’m sorry if I overshared.”

“I’m not.” Something about this woman gets him to open up. And as awkward and stilted as it can be to dredge up old hurts, it also feels good. Plus, this woman seems determined to see the best in him and that is heartening after so many years of criticism and self-recrimination. Maybe that is what has him thinking fanciful thoughts about her. She cheerleads his ego and he responds to it. But whatever the reason, he likes Astral. He wants more Astral in his life.

“I get attached,” Vader blurts out.

“What?”

“I get attached to people too easily. It’s a problem.”

“Oh.”

“I think that’s why we have these conversations. Because even now after all these years, I still need people.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything for a man in my position.”

She quickly assures him, “I won’t tell your secrets. I’m the loyal type.”

Yes, he knows. “So am I. It makes me a horrible Sith.” He says it again now: “I get attached.” It's a warning. Does she understand what he’s saying? “You should know that I get attached.”

Astral looks confused. “I don’t see that. Mostly, I see you push people away.”

Damn, she does see right through him. He’s left with nothing to say.

Looking rattled herself, Astral walks into the adjacent living room as he follows. She heads towards the windows, crossing her arms over her chest. Staring out at the lava fields, she hugs at her upper arms as she shares her own shortcoming. “I’m afraid to start over. How’s that for an admission? Part of me feels so guilty that I didn’t die with everyone else,” she confesses. “It makes me feel pressure to succeed. But I also feel afraid to succeed. Like I don’t deserve it.”

Vader eyes her from behind. The glow of Mustafar’s molten landscape brings out glints in her hair. It makes her more of a redhead than a coppery blonde, he notices. And is she crying? She might be. Her shoulders are trembling. “You need to move on,” he rumbles softly.

She answers with another outburst. “Why did I live? What’s so special about me? Nothing!” Astral throws up her hands in confusion and frustration. “That’s the point! Why did I deserve to live while others died?”

“That’s the wrong question.” He’s seen a lot of war. He knows its randomness. Its unfairness. Justice is an imposed concept. It doesn’t occur naturally absent someone to enforce it. Vader wishes he could say that who lives and who dies is the will of the Force, but it’s not. A lot of days, life and death are his decision. Except for Alderaan. That was Tarkin’s call.

“You lived. That’s all that matters. You’re a survivor now.” Like him.

“I know I should m-move on,” Astral stammers, still facing away. “I just d-don’t know if I c-can . . .”

Her shoulders slump and her head bows. She raises her hands to her cheeks. He can sense her dismay in the Force. It prompts him to approach closer now. His gloved hands find her shoulders to grip gently. He wants to steady her. To comfort her. The impulse to touch her is strong and he’s emboldened by her past embraces.

“I will help you,” he promises.

“I don’t think you can,” she whispers back, raising her own fingers to cover his gloved ones resting on her shoulders. “Thank you, my Lord, but I know I need to help myself. Everything you say is true. I need goals and life skills and . . . well, I need to move on.“

“You can do it.”

“I guess I have to do it,” she sighs, sounding very daunted. “The truth is, I was in a rut long before Alderaan died. And now that rut has become a crisis.”

“I will help you,” he promises again.

“H-How?” She whirls to demand, “How? When you haven’t moved on yourself? Maybe you moved on in your career, but not in your life. No,” she preempts his instant objection, “don’t deny it. I admire a man who is faithful. I thought I married one.”

“Astral—“

“I’ve seen her things in the closet. I know how much you loved her. Tell me, did she deserve you?” Astral chokes out.

“There’s a lot you don’t know—“

“Did she? Did she deserve your devotion?”

Vader again tells the bitter truth. “Padme would hate me now. She would hate what I have become.”

Astral lifts her chin and looks him in the eye. “Then she would be a fool. Only a fool throws away love for politics and religion.”

“She thought what I did was unforgiveable.”

“Like I felt with Leo cheating?”

“Right.”

“But you would still forgive her now anyway?”

“Yes.”

“Then you were the bigger person?”

“That’s not how she saw it.”

“That’s how I see it.” Astral doubles down on Team Sith. Or maybe, it’s really Team Vader. But she tells him solemnly, “Forgiveness is the ultimate test of love. And I failed. But you passed, my Lord.”

He appreciates the support, but Astral doesn’t know the whole story. She wasn’t there as the Republic his Senator wife loved crumbled from corruption, mismanagement, and the deceit of Lord Sidious. Astral also doesn’t know that Padme credited the Jedi Order with saving Naboo, thereby earning her forever admiration. Padme was never going to break with those allegiances. In the end, she valued her principles over their marriage. Maybe if they’d had a chance to have a private conversation, things would have ended differently. But then Obi-Wan had revealed himself. The sabers came out and the time for talking was over.

It’s all so complicated, even in retrospect. But well, he appreciates Astral’s support nonetheless. As so, as Astral blinks up at him in earnest contrition, Vader leans forward. Suddenly, they are awkwardly close. Each waiting for the other to make the first move. But while Vader is bold in many things, he is not bold in this. So, they linger in each other’s space for a few too many heartbeats. 

She’s standing with her face upturned to see him. It’s the perfect posture for a kiss. He could do it. He could seize her in his arms and kiss her senseless like he has daydreamed about. Except his kissing days are done. He’s got his mask off but his respirator on. He needs the breathing support to live. Kissing her senseless might suffocate him. Although seeing her so alluring and approving makes the act all too tempting.

He settles for another hug. Astral fits against him just like he remembers. Soft, warm, and yielding. Her face is against his armored shoulder. Her body is held close in his artificial arms. It’s the most intimate he has been with any woman in decades. And yet not an inch of his body actually touches her.

This is how he lives. Physically removed. Completely remote. Forever separate. Always apart. It promotes his detached, ruthless demeanor. It reinforces his habit of strategic objectivity. It makes it easier to kill. But it also makes him terribly alone. As if his power and position weren’t isolating enough, he has a literal barrier between himself and everyone else. It’s nothing new, of course. But tonight, it stings more than usual. How he wishes he could hold Astral with his own arms. To make a real human connection. 

“Where were you twenty years ago?” he complains into her hair. Where was Astral Sidhu when he needed a woman to believe in him? To rise to the occasion and to support him? To love him unconditionally? Astral would never have rejected him when he needed her most like Padme did. “Where were you?” he laments again.

“Falling in love with the man who cheated on me,” she sighs. “Where were you?” 

“Married to the woman who brought a Jedi assassin to kill me,” he answers. “He beat me in a duel and he left me like this.”

“I think I hate her for that,” Astral breathes out into his chest. She’s sincere. Vader can feel the truth in her words. And, honestly, part of him hates Padme too. For there is a fine line between love and hate. At this point, he thinks he feels both emotions for his late wife.

“I fall for the wrong women,” he admits as he strokes Astral’s back. 

She commiserates. “I have terrible taste in men.”

Their stories are very dissimilar but they ended up in the same place—alone. Each in their own way too afraid to try again. Astral is less bitter than she is discouraged, Vader thinks. And he’s too damaged now to offer a woman much of anything. But there is this, at least. He and Astral are an unlikely friendship that is far more intense than it should be for the short duration of their acquaintance. But circumstances seem to have fostered the exchange of many confidences between them. Astral is the one bright spot in his punishment and recovery.

She pulls back from the embrace and suddenly Vader can’t resist any longer. More . . . he wants more. He always wants more than he should. He needs to do this to get it out of his system. He will kick himself later if he doesn’t take this chance. So, he sucks in a deep breath, rips his respirator aside, and dives for her mouth. He hasn't kissed a woman since he last kissed his wife. While Astral is no Padme, she has captured his attention all the same. And this . . . Well, this makes him feel like a man again. 

Astral flinches in surprise, but she doesn’t resist. She is passive beneath his passion for a prolonged moment. Just as he senses her begin to actively respond, he breaks the kiss and rushes to replace his respirator for a much needed breath. Vader stands over Astral, breathing hard as she stares up at him, lips swollen and slightly parted. Her eyes are confused as she blinks at him. 

“Goodnight, my Lady.” Vader makes a hasty retreat. He’ll leave things at that. He may still be foolish from time to time, but he’s no longer reckless.


	10. chapter 10

Astral gets a late start the next morning. She had lain awake half the night obsessing about the meaning of that kiss. It was over before she had fully processed what was happening. But it happened alright. It was a simultaneous shock, revelation, and ego boost all rolled into one. But what does it mean?? Astral had finally fallen asleep in the wee hours no more enlightened than when her ruminations began. So here she is today, bleary eyed and too late for breakfast. She hopes there’s at least some caf left.

As she heads for the kitchen, she runs into Dr. Levy. “There you are. Come on. Hold this. And this too.” He shoves Lord Vader’s cane and a bottle of water at Astral as he sweeps her along with him down the hallway. The doctor is holding his triage bag, she sees. That’s not a good sign.

“Is something wrong? Has he had a setback?” Astral worries aloud as she hustles to keep up.

“No. But he’s receiving the Intel guy outside right now.”

“Outside? Whatever for?” Astral avoids venturing outside the castle if at all possible. It’s very inhospitable out there.

“He hates for people to come inside his castle. Especially low-level people. Normally, only guys like Tarkin, Veers, and Thrawn get to come inside. Basically, you have to be a General, an Admiral, or a Moff to get invited in. The rest suffer outside in the heat.”

Those names mean nothing to Astral. She just nods and tries to keep pace. The young doctor is moving fast as he heads for the back exit to the landing pad.

“Vanee has gone to fetch the guests. He’ll announce them, the big man will come out for the meeting, and we lurk in the shadows in case he needs help.”

“But it’s so hot out here,” Astral protests as they leave the cool interior.

Dr. Levy nods. “That’s why he’s doing it. It’s a test of stamina.”

“It’s a test of my stamina too,” she grumbles.

“I know. Deal with it. At least you’re not wearing his suit and helmet. Stand here. We need to remain close but out of sight.” The doctor positions her in a shadowy alcove beside him. The area they are in is covered, but still open to the elements. If the castle had a carport garage, this would be it.

“How can anyone see anything with all this smoke?” Astral coughs.

“It’s steam. Water evaporating from within the lava. It tends to collect here but it won’t hurt you. Look--there’s Vanee with the guests. Look sharp.”

Astral does her best to fade into the background. “Er . . . okay.”

“Shhh! Here he comes.”

From the side door to the fortress—the service entrance no less—steps the Lord of Mustafar Castle, Darth Vader himself. He is a towering, fast striding figure with a billowing black cape. Murky semi-opaque water vapor curls about him ominously as he appears silhouetted against the brightly lit interior he emerges from. In the haze, the black armor and black leather textures of Lord Vader’s uniform fade into one. Mostly, all you perceive are the brightly colored buttons on his chest plate and belt. It is an eerie sight when combined with the ever-present hiss of the helmet respirator. Unlike the removable oxygen mask Lord Vader wears inside, the helmet respirator is amplified. It is downright menacing sounding.

“Wow,” Astral breathes out. “What an entrance.”

“I know. Look at him. He’s majestic as fu—“ The young doctor stops himself to rephrase the whispered comment. “He’s majestic when he does the full-on Lord Vader thing. He makes Lord Sidious look like his little sidekick troll when they’re together.”

Yes, Astral can believe it. With this improvised stagecraft, Darth Vader looks downright terrifying. It’s hard to believe that she was held fast in the arms of the same man last night. He looks far more likely to kill her than kiss her just now.

By this time, Vanee has escorted the guests forward. The two men snap to attention and speak in yelping unison. “Lord Vader.”

Their Sith Lord host looks them over as Vanee discreetly withdraws. “Captain Groat,” Lord Vader addresses the man who Astral recognizes from his prior visit. “Who is this?”

The Intel officer introduces his quaking subordinate. “This is Corporal Morico. He led the original Tatooine investigation at the time the droids were first lost.”

“Do you have a full name or a picture of the pilot yet?” Lord Vader demands.

“No, my Lord.”

“What do you have?”

“Background from Tatooine. You’ll want to hear it, Sir.”

“Go on.”

“The smuggler Han Solo flies with a wookiee copilot only. No droids or other crew.”

“So, the pilot was not in his employ?”

“No.”

The lead Intel guy continues: “Solo was docked at Mos Eisley to meet with the local Hutt gang. The smuggler owes the Hutts for a spice shipment he dropped in a raid. Just before he left, Solo struck a deal to pay the Hutts the full value of the lost spice plus a sizable excess. Solo told Jabba he had a lucrative charter deal to pay for it.”

“So, the smuggler was a transport merely? Not a Rebel himself?” Lord Vader surmises.

“That’s how it appears. No one who knows Solo says he has any political persuasions. He’s just a small-time drug runner, Sir. Independent of any gang or other affiliation we can identify. Solo lives up to his name.”

“So the charter was returning the droids to Alderaan?”

“Yes. The passengers were an old man, a young man, and two droids.”

“Kenobi?”

The senior Intel guy nods. “It was the Jedi, for certain, my Lord. Before the group left, there was a bit of a brawl in a local cantina. Several eyewitnesses said that the younger man got in an argument and the older man solved it. The geezer took off some alien’s arm with a blue laser sword. He pulled it out in the open, Sir. Like it was the old days of the Republic and not the Empire after the Purge.”

Lord Vader nods. “He’s a bold one.”

“Then the smuggler shot a Rodian from the Hutt gang and the local authorities were wise to them. Solo, the wookiee, and their passengers blasted their way out of Mos Eisley in the freighter shortly thereafter.”

“What was Kenobi doing on Tatooine?”

“He lived there.”

“On Tatooine?”

“Yes.”

“All this time he was on Tatooine?” Darth Vader seems befuddled by this news, and that’s very uncharacteristic.

“He went by the name Ben Kenobi. The Jedi kept a low profile—“

“Obviously.”

“—he was a hermit who lived in the desert. He came into the spaceport sporadically for supplies. No one seemed to know him.”

“Where on Tatooine did he live?”

The Captain looks to the Corporal, who speaks up. “It was near the Dune Sea, Sir. It’s a desolate area. Mostly moisture farmers.”

“Did you search Kenobi’s home?”

“Yes. We have scans and pictures for you. There was nothing much of any value left. The local desert scavengers got there first. Or someone else. We can’t be sure,” the Corporal answers.

“Did he live alone?”

“It appears so.”

“No evidence of an Apprentice?”

“No.”

“So, how did Kenobi get the droids? Did the escape pod land nearby?”

“No, Sir. Our team chasing the droids determined that they were picked up by local scavengers first.”

“The Jawas?”

“Yes. You know Tatooine, Sir?” the Corporal is surprised.

“Yes. Continue. The Jawas are traders. Who did they sell the droids to? What’s the chain of custody?”

“We traced the droids to a moisture farmer. He bought a reconditioned R2 unit and a protocol droid from the Jawas. There is no indication that the Jawas or the farmer had any idea that one of the droids had the Death Star plans. We can’t be sure, but we think the transaction was wholly innocent. The droids appear to have been purchased as farm equipment.”

Lord Vader listens and then prods, “So how did Kenobi get the droids?”

“That’s where the trail ends, Sir.”

“Bring in the farmer. Make him talk.”

“He’s dead, Sir. Along with his wife.”

“And the Jawas?”

“Dead too.”

“Why?”

“The farmer put up resistance,” the Corporal explains. “He came out with a rifle. Sir, we return deadly force with deadly force.”

“Did the wife shoot too?” Lord Vader wants to know.

“No. We found her hiding in the kitchen with a pistol though.”

“And the Jawas?”

“They are local pests, Sir. Everyone cheers a few less Jawas.”

“Maybe so, but your job was to track the droids. For that you needed information,” Lord Vader hisses. “Killing all the sources of information was stupid. Dead men tell no tales, Corporal. You should have arrested them.”

“Yes, Sir. Next time, Sir.”

“There is no next time,” the Sith snaps back. Clearly irritated by the report from junior man, he turns back to Captain Groat. “Do we know where the young man came from? The one we think may be the pilot?”

“It’s a wild guess, but we think the pilot may be the dead farmer’s son. The farmer and his wife had a grown son still living at home.”

“And he escaped?”

“No, Sir,” the Tatooine Corporal immediately issues a denial. “We think the son may have been out working on the farm with the droids when we arrived. The best we can tell, the son fled to the Jedi for help. Kenobi would have been the nearest neighbor. It’s very sparsely populated out there.”

His colleague concurs. “That would explain how the Jedi got the droids. Kenobi must have been in contact with the Rebellion somehow in order to recognize their value. The Jedi decided to return the droids with the plans to the Alderaan royal family and he hired Solo for the charter. I guess the farmer kid tagged along.”

“Maybe Kenobi took the son with him since the parents were dead and he had nowhere to go?” the local officer theorizes. “They probably knew one another.”

“Who was the farmer?” Lord Vader asks.

“Owen Lars. Married to a Beru Lars. Longtime residents. No prior offenses for either one. They appear to be hardworking, law abiding citizens. The farm had been in the family a couple of generations.”

“Lars?” Lord Vader responds like perhaps he has misheard.

“Yes, Lars. The husband was known to be an irascible sort. Curmudgeonly. Opinionated publicly on local matters, but not on the Rebellion. We’ve got nothing on the wife or the son yet. They flew under the radar.”

“Search the farm.”

“It was destroyed.”

“Destroyed?”

“Yes, Sir,” the Tatooine Corporal yelps.

Darth Vader is most displeased at this news. “So, you killed all the useful witnesses and you destroyed all the relevant evidence?”

“My Lord—“

“This is why we have a Rebellion,” the Sith growls. “Because Imperial troops are as bad as the Hutt gang. Could you not arrest the farmer to bring him in for questioning?”

“He had a weapon—“

“Then disable him and take him alive.”

“He put up a fight—he demanded a warrant—“

“Fine. Kill him. But it was stupid to kill the wife too. Women always talk.”

“She had a weapon—“

“And by that time, you had killed her husband, yes? Corporal, when you treat people as hostile, they tend to react as hostile. Did you do anything to deescalate the situation?”

The man shifts his weight uncomfortably as he stammers, “My Lord, if you recall the urgency of the situation—“

“I do recall. I was at Scarif,” Lord Vader overrides him. Then, he passes judgement. “Corporal, your tactics did not recover the plans nor did they preserve any ability to investigate further. That makes your mission a complete failure.”

The Corporal does not dispute it. He just hangs him head. “Very sorry, my Lord.”

“I tire of your excuses as much as I tire of your incompetence.” Lord Vader has lost patience. He raises his right hand and slowly closes it into a fist.

“He’s choking him,” Dr. Levy narrates the maneuver for clueless Astral who looks on.

“Whaaat?” she whispers, peering through the steamy mist at the Corporal whose hands are now clutched to his throat.

“It’s his signature move,” the young doctor tells her under his breath. “He killed my old boss Dr. Brinker that way.”

“W-Why?” she wonders aloud. Who would kill a doctor trying to help him?

“He and Brinker didn’t get along. Plus, Brinker was spying for Lord Sidious. Lord Vader takes his personal privacy very seriously.”

“Yes, of course,” Astral gulps as she sees the offending Corporal fall to his knees as he struggles for breath. She watches in horror as the man is slowly and painfully asphyxiated by the Force.

Astral has never seen anyone die in real time. It’s . . . well, it’s very upsetting. She can’t bear to witness anymore, so she shuts her eyes and covers her ears. This is perhaps the worst thing she has ever experienced. Up there with the videos purporting to show the destruction of her home planet that Astral has watched so many times that they invade her dreams.

As it drags on, Astral wonders if violence is Lord Vader’s substitute for sex. The two are far more linked for men than anyone wants to let on. All the socialization and mores of modern life do not undo millennia of ancient evolutionary biology. The need to compete, the will to dominate, and the impulse to aggression are born into most men. And maybe, Astral thinks, those desires might be particularly strong in a powerless slave turned power obsessed Sith. But with no outlet to express them, perhaps violence has become Lord Vader’s go-to solution. Gods, she hopes not. Because that makes this moment more than merely horrifying. It makes it kind of pathetic.

There is a dull thud now as the heaving, wheezing, stumbling Corporal hits the floor. Astral winces as beside her Dr. Levy cringes. No doubt he worries that one day the dead man who angered Lord Vader will be himself.

“Is it over?” she frets.

“It’s over. You can look.”

“What now?”

“We wait. Let him wrap it up.”

“Fine. But if he does that again, I’m leaving,” Astral announces under her breath.

Captain Groat escapes his colleague’s fate. Astral listens as Lord Vader gives instructions to investigate the farm family. Get the school records on the son. Interview the teachers, find the friends. Figure out everything you can about this Lars kid. I want a picture, Lord Vader demands. Then, he dismisses the surviving man, turns on heel, and marches back inside his castle.

Vanee reemerges immediately to whisk the Captain away to his idling ship.

Dr. Levy rushes forward to kneel beside the slumped Corporal. “Yep, he’s dead.” The disappointed doctor looks up to instruct Astral, “Go inside. Bring Lord Vader the water and help him get his helmet off. I’ll be right in to check him out.”

Astral needs no encouragement to flee the scene. She hurries to do the doctor’s bidding.

Inside the castle fortress, she finds its master pulling his helmet off. Lord Vader is sweaty and clammy, but otherwise okay. Astral hands him the water and goes in search of a towel to dry him off. When she returns, the doctor has appeared with the dog tags of the unlucky Corporal. Vanee is back as well.

The two men are receiving instructions. “Killed in action,” Lord Vader decrees as he reaches for the towel she’s holding with the Force. “Give him a posthumous promotion on his service record. Make up some glorious tale for his dependents to believe,” the Sith decides as he blots at his dripping face. He’s very matter of fact about the murder he just committed. If Lord Vader is remorseful in any way, it sure doesn’t show.

“And the body?” Vanee asks.

“Same as always.”

“Very good.” Vanee is treating this like an everyday occurrence, Astral perceives. And that might be the most upsetting part. “We will see to it, my Lord.”

Vanee makes to leave, but Lord Vader stops him. “You, stay. Doctor, get Astral to help you.”

Dr. Levy nods and tells her, “Come on.”

Astral dutifully follows him back outside into the heat to attend to the body. Together, they stand over the fallen Corporal. Astral makes a face of distaste. “I’ve never seen a dead person before,” she explains sheepishly.

“I got used to corpses in medical school,” Dr. Levy tells her. He shakes his head with resignation. “You’ll get used to dead men too if you stay at the castle. Hang around here long enough and you’ll see plenty.”

Astral’s eyes narrow. She’s alarmed. “This happens a lot?”

“Too often for my taste,” the doctor complains. “Well, let’s do this. Grab a leg.”

“Oookay.” Astral swallows hard. Then she gingerly reaches for a shiny boot.

“It’s good that he doesn’t let the junior guys inside,” Dr. Levy tells her as together they slowly drag the dead man. “He chokes more of the low-level ones than he does the senior commanders. This way, we don’t have to drag them as far.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the waterfall.”

“Wait—the lava waterfall?” Astral stops short.

“Yes. You get buried at sea on Mustafar. The lava sea,” Dr. Levy jokes with grim humor.

“You’re kidding me!”

No, he’s not. The doctor sighs. “Look, they have to go somewhere.”

“This is horrible!” Astral hisses as they resume tugging. “This is absolutely horrible!”

“Nope,” the young doctor jokes again, “This is Darth Vader feeling more like his old self. Pissed off and short tempered. It’s vintage Vader, trust me.”

“He should do his own dirty work,” Astral decides in a huff.

Dr. Levy gives her a pained look in response. Like she’s hopelessly naive. “We do the Sith’s dirty work. Haven’t you figured that out? They do what they want, and we clean up after them. Lord Sidious punishes his Apprentice and it’s my job to patch him up and get him back to work.” The young doctor shakes his head with weary worldliness. “You should see the stuff Vanee is responsible for. He does more than simply give his boss a sponge bath when the Emperor fries him. Vanee handles the Master’s personal affairs. Sure, that’s managing the castle and the fancy palace on Coruscant. But it’s also code for everything—and I mean everything—that Lord Sidious does not need to know.”

“Oh.”

They have made it to the edge of the landing pad now. The doctor takes the lead to scoot the body around the safety railing. Then, he beckons her closer. “Watch yourself as you climb over those rocks. You take the arms and I’ll take the legs. On three, we’ll throw him over the side. Make sure you let go or you’ll go with him,” he warns sternly.

“This is horrible,” Astral grumbles again.

“He’s already dead. Think of it as cremation.”

“Shouldn’t we say something?” she worries. This is a burial, after all.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like ‘May the Force be with you?’” she improvises.

“That’s Jedi talk. How about ‘Burn in Hell. Love, Lord Vader?’”

“That’s not funny!”

“That’s Sith talk,” the doctor points out. “Think of it this way—if someone ever learns you worked for Darth Vader, you can answer truthfully if they ask if you know where all the bodies are buried.”

“That’s not funny,” she groans. There’s nothing funny about this.

“Here, I’ll do it. Go inside, Astral. You look like you’re going to faint. I’ll give this guy his cliff dive myself.”

“No, I’ll help,” she sighs as she reluctantly soldiers on. Together, they half toss, half roll the unlucky Corporal over the lava waterfall. His body bounces once off the side and then immediately sinks into the molten rock. Astral squeezes her eyes shut at the sight. For a moment, she does feel as if she might faint.

“Here. Let me help you.” Young Dr. Levy gallantly offers his hand to make sure Astral safely makes her way back up to the land pad. “If you weren’t on Team Sith before,” he tells her with a rueful look, “you sure are now.”

The comment hits home. Astral looks away, suddenly feeling very out of place at this remote castle located on a Hellish world. It has an angry, disfigured Dark Lord who lives a life of violence and pain. And it is haunted by memories of a lost love and by secrets of a former life that cannot quite be forgotten. How did she get here? Why is she here? Suddenly, Astral’s fears about starting over disappear. However hard it will be to start a new life on Coruscant, at least it won’t be Mustafar Castle. 

Astral sequesters herself in her room for most of the day, successfully avoiding everyone. But later that evening, she wants her nightly cup of tea, as usual. Astral peeks outside her door to make sure she’s alone first. Satisfied there will be no late-night Lord Vader run-in, she walks swiftly through the main floor living area and heads for the kitchen. It too is empty. Astral is relieved.

She drinks her tea fast tonight. It’s not her typical leisurely wind down into sleep. Hopefully, it will still do the trick. Sleeping has been hard generally, not just last night. Astral tends to lie awake most nights cataloguing in her mind the people and places she has lost. Then, she falls into a restless sleep plagued by dreams of her old life. This is grief. You cannot rush it. You must endure it. But tea helps. 

  
  
When she’s done, Astral cleans her cup and checks the hallway. Good, she’s still alone. She puts her head down and heads for her room. But not before she glances into the living room to see a tall shape seated on the couch facing the windows. 

That’s not Vanee or Dr. Levy. 

Astral freezes, then starts to walk fast. She’s not ready to confront the riddle of last night’s kiss or the horror of this morning’s murder. That the same man is responsible for both acts has her deeply troubled.

  
  
Astral gets three steps before Lord Vader speaks. “Don’t pretend you don’t know I’m here,” he calls out. 

Again, she freezes. There’s no avoiding the situation now. Astral wipes her suddenly sweaty palms on her dress, squares her shoulders, and takes a deep breath. “Good evening, my Lord,” she greets him. 

As usual, Darth Vader skips the small talk. He gets straight to the conflict. He raises the issue of the dead man himself. “I need to find that pilot. That Corporal’s stupidity impeded me. I do not tolerate stupidity.”

“Yes, my Lord. It’s none of my affair,” she mumbles, hoping to conclude the conversation quickly with a show of meekness. 

But Lord Vader doesn’t give her an easy exit. “You disapprove?”

Yes. “No. It is not my place to disapprove,” she grovels.

“And yet, you do disapprove,” he goads her. 

Astral won’t deny it a second time. Instead, she tries to understand. “This is because the pilot has the Force, isn’t it?” That’s why the Corporal’s error was worth killing him over. 

“I need to find that pilot first.”

“Then didn’t the Corporal’s errors help you?” she argues. “He made it harder for anyone else to find the pilot, right?”

“I want that pilot,” Lord Vader growls. 

“You’re going to kill that pilot so he won’t become your replacement, aren’t you?” It’s plain speaking, but if Lord Vader won’t mince words, neither will she. Plus, she’s annoyed that he’s talking to her while facing away. If he’s going to talk to her, then at least he ought to look at her.

“Yes,” Lord Vader answers. Finally, he rises from the couch and turns to face her across the room. She sees he’s out of the suit and back in the lounge clothes he wore daily for weeks on end. This is the Sith at his most comfortable, brooding in his castle watching the lava.

“You play the game of power to win, Astral,” he informs her. “There are no loyalties other than yourself.”

“That sounds awful.” Like some Crimson Dawn crime gang you get inducted into and then can never leave.

“It is awful,” Lord Vader agrees. “But I didn’t make the rules and I can’t quit the game. So, I play to win.”

“I don’t understand. How is the pilot any different from the other Jedi you hunted? Didn’t they have the Force? Why is this man any more of a threat than they were?”

“Your average Jedi would never flip Sith. Their threat is as an enemy. Not as a replacement.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Lord Vader informs her curtly. “I’ve martyred plenty Jedi in my time.”

“Right.” This man is very straightforward about his ruthlessness. Astral knows this, of course. The whole galaxy knows this. But somehow, she finds herself forgetting it.

“That pilot was not your average Jedi. He was very strong with the Force. Exceptionally strong. And if he turns out to be this Lars kid, then he’s untrained. That will make him much easier for Sheev to groom into a Sith.”

“I see.”

“The Force was with him,” Lord Vader says solemnly, looking very troubled. She doesn’t really know what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.

“Astral, I might not like my job, but I’m not anxious to lose my head so another man can replace me. It’s more than just self-interest. I might not be able to prevent things like Alderaan, but in other areas I have considerable influence. I can temper some of Sheev’s more extreme impulses.”

“So you do subvert him?” she asks hopefully.

“From time to time. Never overtly. Don’t get your hopes up, Astral. Don’t misunderstand this.”

Too late. She walks forward towards him, intrigued by what he’s saying. “Are you telling me you’re the deep state of the Empire?”

He grunts. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I have my ways. Sheev is more and more distracted with his experiments these days.”

“Experiments?”

“Cloning experiments. Sheev’s obsessed with living forever. His old Master Lord Plagueis supposedly could do it through the Force, but Sheev never learned the skill. So, he tries more conventional means.”

“Oh.”

“Sheev knows I can’t kill him, but he also knows that eventually he will die. Sheev might be powerful, but he is still mortal.”

“But this Plagueis man was not mortal?”

“Sheev claims he killed him.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“Who knows? But if he’s alive, he’s been off the grid for forty years. So, if he’s not dead, he’s irrelevant for now. Hopefully, forever,” Lord Vader grumbles, “because if he ever emerges, I’m a dead man.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Three Sith is one Sith too many. If Darth Plagueis returns, I won’t survive the battle for the role of Apprentice.”

She’s confused. “But why would he want the guy who tried to murder him back as Apprentice?”

“For power,” Lord Vader answers succinctly. “Power is what matters. And Sheev is more powerful than I am. Possibly that pilot is too.” He looks her in the eye and growls again, “I want that pilot.”

“So I saw this morning,” she gripes, not bothering to hide her disapproval any longer. “Dr. Levy says you do that choking thing a lot.”

“When circumstances merit,” he nods. “Don’t feel too sorry for him. That Colonel slaughtered people indiscriminately,” he reminds her. “He was hardly an innocent victim.”

“Would you care what he did if it hadn’t impeded your goal?” she challenges.

“Probably not. I don’t concern myself with the activities of local garrisons. It would never have risen to my attention.”

Astral nods knowingly. “I suppose life is cheap for a man in your position.”

“A certain distance comes with the job,” he admits. “Great empires are not maintained by timidity. Nor by scruples.”

“With that attitude, I see how it is a slippery slope from one life, to ten lives, to Alderaan,” she snaps.

Lord Vader crosses his arms defensively at that comment, she notices. Then he tries a new tactic. “Would it help if I told you that Corporal today was a special case? I knew Owen Lars once.”

“Who?”

“The moisture farmer who was killed on Tatooine. He was my stepbrother.”

“Your--oh.” Oooh. That’s an unforeseen angle to explain his actions.

“I met Lars once over twenty years ago. His father bought my mother, freed her, and married her. My mother was his father’s second wife. The first wife was Lars’ mother.”

“So the farmer was not a blood relation?”

“Correct. But Owen Lars was the closest thing I had to family. His father gave my mother freedom and happiness. It was more than I ever gave her. For that, today I gave justice to the Lars family.”

“So that Corporal died for—“

“Revenge as well as incompetence. I had read his reports in advance. I had Groat bring him here so I could kill him myself.”

“I see.” So this was premeditated, and not a display of temper. Astral is not sure whether that makes it better or worse.

And now, Lord Vader, as usual, gets right to the crux of the matter. “Astral, killing is what I do. I began killing as Jedi. Now, I kill as a Sith. Either way, death is death.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say!” she reacts.

“Everyone I kill is someone’s kid or someone’s spouse or someone’s friend. I know that. And I know what it means to lose someone you love. So lest you think I am indifferent to loss of life, go look in the closet in your bedroom,” he snarls. “I spent many years trying to revive my wife and for decades now I myself have struggled to stay alive. I know in a way few people do how precious and fleeting life is.”

“But still . . . you kill,” she accuses.

“I do what I must.” He sighs heavily and looks away. “But that doesn’t mean I always like it.”

“And what if the Lars’ son is the Death Star pilot?” she posits.

“That’s different. It doesn’t matter who his father is. That pilot is a dead man walking.”

“So your justice for your family only goes so far?” she challenges.

“You said yourself that family is no blood relation. My sentiment has limits. That pilot is a terrorist against the Empire, a man with plenty of blood on his hands, and a threat to me personally. When I find him, he dies,” Lord Vader vows. “Everyone will be better off for it.”

“Fine!” She can’t really argue with that reasoning, but she wants to make one thing clear: “Don’t make me do your dirty work again. I won’t throw bodies into the lava for you.” Her words come out loud and shrill.

He steps forward now and his voice is slow and soft. “I wanted you to do that. To see what I am. To know what I do. Open your eyes to me, Astral. Don’t deceive yourself.”

He’s close now, just a few steps from her. His yellow eyes inscrutable and his expression enigmatic behind his oxygen mask. But she thinks she’s knows what he’s up to. “You’re pushing me away, right? Like you do everyone. This is because of last night—because of that--"

“I know you want to believe in heroes, but there are no heroes. Not the way we are raised to believe. All men have feet of clay. Even that man downstairs in the painting. None of us is without sin, and all morality and justice are situational. Power is the only constant.”

Astral listened to the doctor mansplain the Sith to her this morning and now she’s getting another version tonight from Lord Vader. Well, she disagrees. “I reject that cynicism.”

“We all want to reject that cynicism!” he rasps. “It’s why the Sith endure. The Sith know that people long to trust in institutions and to cling to abstract ideals. It’s what makes the masses especially easy to manipulate,” Lord Vader sneers.

“Is that really the way you think?” She’s trying to understand his creed. Why he is the person he is. How to explain what he does. Because ruthless Darth Vader is no madman or criminal. He’s strategic about what he does and why. She also knows he is not without reflection or principles. She’s certain he would not consider himself a murderer for what he did today. So, she demands, “Do you really think power is everything?” It’s a serious question.

He hesitates before he answers. “It’s how I think now. When everyone around you thinks like that, you have to think that way too.”

“But you don’t want to think like that?” Astral asks hopefully.

He equivocates and then condescends. “Whether power is the means or the end, power is what matters. Because without power, no ideals are achievable.”

And, yeah, he might have a point there. All this arguing over metaphysics is esoteric anyway. But very illuminating, Astral thinks. Because Darth Vader kills the Corporal but then gives her justifications why. Just like he plans to kill the Death Star pilot, but he has reasons for that too. Clearly, he is no impulsive brute. But the more Lord Vader explains his actions, the more defensive he sounds. And maybe this is just wishful thinking, but Astral sees a man trapped in a life he is unable to change but also unwilling to fully embrace.

Frustrated, she glares up at him. All this machismo talk of power reminds her of her musings from this morning. Before she can stop herself, she calls Lord Vader on it. With her hands on her hips and her head cocked high, she makes the argument personal. “Tell me, does killing make you more powerful? Does violence make you feel like more of a man?”

The instant the words leave her lips, she regrets them. That was a low blow. She shouldn’t have gone there.

So when he steps forward, she instinctively retreats. Astral sees the ugly smirk behind his oxygen mask and suddenly she’s truly nervous. She instantly recants. “I’m sorry—”

“Violence makes me feel like a Sith,” he informs her in a slow raspy drawl.

“My Lord, forgive me—” Astral keeps backing up as he advances.

“But this--” He reaches for her with cold metal hands, yanking her none to gently. “This makes me feel like more of a man. You make me feel like a man.” Then, before Astral can wiggle away, he swipes aside his mask and kisses her again.

This is not the hard, sudden kiss from last night. That kiss had felt like desperation. Like pent up frustration that somehow poured out in her direction. Astral had been taken aback by everything about that moment, from the very fact that Lord Vader was kissing her to the insistence of his surprisingly soft lips. She was worried too for what she had gotten herself into and just how she had misjudged the situation. But this moment is nothing like that. This kiss is shockingly soft and gentle, slow and respectful. Not at all the angry assault she’s expecting. And that makes it a very effective seduction. When he pulls back to breathe into his mask, it leaves her wanting more. So Astral stays beneath his chin, lingering.

She gets her wish. His lips find hers again. Then her hands twine around his neck and her body presses close. She’s lost in the unexpected rapture of his embrace as the kiss deepens fast.

Why is she doing this? Why is she drawn to this man? Perhaps it’s because everyone she knows is dead. Astral needs someone--maybe anyone, at this point—to keep her from feeling so alone. She was content to be single for years because she was surrounded by a vibrant group of friends and colleagues. She had challenging work, a comfortable lifestyle, and a network of people to see and places to be. But now, that’s all gone. She lives in a castle in a volcano with a quadruple amputee burn victim who she finds increasingly attractive. He looks like a monster. She’s seen him act like a monster. But he’s not a monster. Not really. Plus, he’s the first man who has given her a serious second look in years. And right now, he’s all she has. So, she clings to him tightly to feel a little less lost. Sure, he’s damaged. But so is she.

Her hands are at his waist now, gripping the rare parts of him that are warm human flesh. With his suit off, he’s wearing the loose black tunic and pants he always wears at home. This is Lord Vader without any pretense. The man’s prosthetics are revealed completely without gloves or boots for coverings. And that means the arms that hold her are steel and wire. They feel hard and cold. Very robotic. It makes them a poor match for the achingly human man they belong to.

He pulls back again to breathe into his oxygen mask. It reminds Astral of how risky this is. This fearsome man could be killed by a kiss. As it is, he is breathless. Astral reaches up to cup his scarred cheek as he clasps the mask to his mouth, inhaling again and again. She has excited him and that makes him pant. It’s like the intensity of their passion has just upped the ante for danger.

“We should stop,” she whispers.

“No,” he refuses. He drags away the oxygen to again claim her mouth with his. And this time, one skeletal arm drops lower to intercept her hand at his waist. He drags it lower and lower still. He’s not . . . he is. He pulls her hand down by his hip.

Astral freezes. She has not expected this. Because is he . . . capable? She had always assumed he was too damaged. And she would never embarrass them both by asking so personal a question. It’s none of her business. Except maybe now it is.

“I am still a man . . . I am still a man in that way,” he rasps between puffs on his oxygen mask. Astral hears the unspoken subtext that he is a machine in most respects and she viscerally hates the comparison. It makes her want to help him feel more like the man he once was, and not with violence but with compassion. So as he encourages her with metal fingers that knead and grope, she takes the hint to mimic the gesture.

But still, she worries softly, “I don’t want to hurt you—“

“You can’t hurt me.” His words are more resigned sigh than boast. This man bears the indignities of his condition with a manly stoicism that seems superhuman.

“Are you sure? I would never want to increase your pain.”

“You are not paining me.” 

Yes, it’s true. Pleasure from her tentative ministrations is written all over his face. How little comfort this man has in his life. How few diversions. Suddenly, Astral wants more than anything to please him. To give him respite and comfort. So as his hungry mouth finds hers again, her hand becomes more aggressive. She feels his body respond and that makes her inexplicably happy. But their mutual excitement is short lived as he staggers back suddenly clutching the oxygen mask to his face with both hands. He is alarmingly short of breath.

Astral’s dreamy mind instantly snaps back to reality. This is truly dangerous. “Sit down. Catch your breath.” She directs him to the nearest couch, fearing that their folly may have just caused him a setback. He complies but looks humiliated all the same. He has one hand to his bowed forehead as he closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

“Do you need the doctor?”

“No!” he retorts fast. “I was not always this damaged,” he reminds her between heaving gasps that make his chest rise and fall.

“I know,” she soothes. “You’re stronger every day lately,” Astral cheerleads.

But he is glum. “I’ll never breathe on my own normally. I’ll never be able to . . . “ His voice trails off and his thought remains unfinished. But his face says it all: he hates how he is forced to live.

“Hey . . .” She sinks to her knees in front of where he is seated. Somehow this posture feels more normal between them. With her looking up to Lord Vader like always, rather than looming over him below. Like the rest of the galaxy, Astral is conditioned to think of this man as commanding. So, seeing him weak at her feet just seems wrong. It upsets the natural order of things. It reminds her of the earliest days of his recovery when he was miserably helpless. Lord Vader has been brought so low that Astral wants to do all she can to build him up.

“Hey, it will be alright,” she soothes as she reaches to rest her hands on his knees. “Just breathe. It will be fine. You’re looking better already.”

He looks up and sits back as he considers her. Lord Vader looks at her so long in silence that Astral starts to feel self-conscious. But his breathing has returned to normal by now, so when he speaks it’s no longer in fits and starts. “You are too soft to kill, too weak for violence, and too squeamish for pain,” he decides. Under the ‘no crying, no whining, no pity’ code of conduct for Mustafar Castle, those are words of criticism. And yet, he says them like an endearment. Lord Vader now reaches to cup her cheek. “All that fear, and yet you don’t shy away from me. Why?” he demands.

She doesn’t answer. Truthfully, she’s not exactly sure.

“Everyone else runs from me. The galaxy fears me—“

She interrupts. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

This time, he doesn’t answer.

“You play a role. I’ve seen it a few times now.”

“It’s not an act. It’s who I am,” he informs her.

“Yes, but it’s not all you are,” she counters. “You are far more than just the Emperor’s enforcer, the Jedi killer, and the scary, faceless man in black. You’re more than just the bad guy. You said it yourself downstairs in the vault. You were the Jedi who switched sides because you thought it was for the best. Because you thought you could help people.” That confession had made quite an impression on her.

He shuts her down. “There was more to it. But I don’t want to talk about—“

“Fine. We don’t have to talk about it,” she agrees. Then, persists. “But I see it all the same.”

“See what?”

“The conflict.”

There’s really no other word for it, she thinks. For this man is a mess of contradictions. It’s in everything from his views on the Death Star to his discomfort with the Emperor’s desire to cover up Alderaan. Who he appears to be in public is not the true measure of Lord Vader. Astral even saw with her own eyes on Coruscant the actual physical conflict between him and Lord Sidious. Maybe Master and Apprentice are on the same page on many things, but clearly they have stark differences. And she’s glad for it. It speaks well of Lord Vader in her eyes. Finally, Astral understands the remarks from Vanee and the doctor characterizing the boss as ‘complicated.’

“There is no conflict,” Lord Vader corrects her. “I’m not who you want me to be. I don’t think I was ever that man.” He says it like an apology.

Her heart goes out to him for his predicament. “You're so disappointed in yourself,” Astral realizes aloud. Then she cringes at how awful it sounds.

She’s anticipating another reproof. But this time, he nods. His yellow eyes bore into hers with uncomfortable intensity. “Everyone is disappointed in me. I will disappoint you too.” 

Astral nods. It’s a warning that seems like a forgone conclusion. After all, just hours ago she watched him asphyxiate a man with his power. Darth Vader is a killer. He’s a vengeful, unhappy man. Depressed and dissatisfied. Moody and negative. And yet, she likes him. She wants to help him. Something about this weary warrior is compelling. He’s like no one she’s ever met before. And the more she knows him, the deeper Astral is drawn under his spell. All day, she hasn’t been able to get last night’s surprise kiss out of her mind. Tonight’s reprise has her half seduced already. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t worked up herself right now.

So, she answers staunchly, “Don’t underestimate yourself. Or me, for that matter.”

She sees his cheeks lift and his eyes crinkle from a brief smile hidden behind his respirator. Again, Lord Vader cups her cheek. “Did the Force send you to me?” he wonders. She half thinks the question is serious.

Astral shakes her head no. But now, thanks to the intimate knowledge that he divulged tonight, suddenly she has an idea. She thinks she knows what this man needs. A few wild kisses might send him reeling for the couch, but there are other options for passion. But does she dare do this? Yes, she does. If he accepts, this might be just what Lord Vader needs on multiple levels. But can she do this? Should she do this? And does she even remember how?

“My Lord, keep your mask on,” she requests. It’s her way of telling him she’s not angling for another kiss. Then her hands climb up his legs. They are trembling slightly with a mix of fear and excitement as they linger high near his hips. Her questioning eyes find his over the oxygen mask. Is this okay? She’s looking for permission. Does he understand? Astral is blushing furiously because there’s no way she could ever offer this in words.

“My Lord?” she prompts. It’s a half-squeak, half-whisper. Does he understand??

He does. His knees fall open wider and his body shifts forward towards her. That’s her cue. And now, her hands resume her prior efforts. She won’t go any further unless he initiates it, but her kneeling posture she hopes is a clear silent offer.

He accepts. Metal hands reach for his waistband to unbuckle and unzip. Astral swallows hard and prepares herself for whatever lies beneath. For not an inch of what remains of this man is unscathed from his defeat. But in the end, he looks basically normal. Like his torso, here his skin is mottled and uneven in texture and tone. It’s the legacy of skin grafts that shrunk asymmetrically with mixed success. But frankly, even a normal man isn’t pretty down there. So relieved Astral smiles up at his anxious yellow eyes to reassure. Then, she accepts him into her bare hands.

He throws his head back and groans. It reassures her, for she only half believes him that this won’t hurt. So much of this man’s life is mixed with pain, that Astral worries this too is a bitter bargain of how much he can stand in the ongoing cost benefit analysis of his daily life. He groans again and she can’t quite suppress her smile. He must see it through his slitted eyes because he lifts a metal hand to grip at her shoulder. Astral leans slightly forward and he encourages the movement. Slipping his hand to the back of her neck to gently guide her forward. Yes, he understands the full offer and he accepts. So Astral closes her eyes and her lips follow where her hands have been. And now, Lord Vader groans again deeper.

She lets him gratify himself fully. She revels in his satisfaction. Enjoying the feel of his robot hands that invade her hair, pulling it loose. This is him, she tells herself, when the slight clicks and whirs of the prosthetic servomotors sound with his movements. They threaten to break the fantasy, but she thrusts those thoughts away. This is him. Embracing her as best he can. He soldiers on in an ongoing fight to preserve what’s left of his humanity and dignity, and she will do the same.

When they are done, she is up on her knees with her head resting on his lap. He strokes her hair absently as he tells her, “Thank you.” What happens next? Astral isn’t sure.

Tonight might be the most foolish thing she has ever done. But whatever happens, she refuses to regret it. Because for all its awkwardness, this tryst felt oddly wholesome in a way that is very appealing. Tonight wasn’t some anonymous holonet hookup. This was a real connection. And that matters. Because while sex is a biological drive like hunger and thirst, it is also so much more. And that’s why one-night stands, friends with benefits arrangements, and lonely solo sex in front of a screen never seem to satisfy. Because what we all really want is more than merely physical release. We want intimacy. Understanding. Admiration. Acceptance. Validation. And so, even without the elusive magical spark of love that she and Lord Vader have both sworn off, tonight was good. She cares, he cares, and that’s enough.


	11. chapter 11

He needs to get back to work. For so many reasons, he needs to get back to work.

Levy tells him he needs another two weeks minimum to recover before he can resume a partial schedule, but he’s getting antsy watching the Empire fall into disarray on Sheev’s watch. Two months after the dissolution of the Senate and the destruction of Alderaan and the Death Star, things are deteriorating rapidly. The Rebellion has gone from a terrorist fringe group that was marginalized by all good citizens to a political movement openly debated on legitimate media sources. Suddenly, the concept of an alternative to the status quo seems plausible. Maybe even reasonable. And that’s a major shift in collective mindset that Vader worries is a harbinger of fundamental change to come.

War seems unavoidable now. For once the Rebels have regrouped, they will be on the offensive. Vader knows they will be emboldened by their success and anxious to prove their might now that they have people’s attention. Right now, the Rebels seem to be setting the galactic agenda. It makes the Emperor look weak.

Sheev is making all the wrong moves, naturally. His arrogance is his biggest weakness and it’s on full display these days. He’s cracking down on Rebel-friendly systems with overly aggressive tactics that play right into his enemy’s hands. Rounding up suspects for internment camps and holding them indefinitely without due process in a blithe disregard for civil rights. Citing an emergency, Sheev is treating all public dissent as high treason rather than recognizing gradations among the malcontents. You don’t treat the guy who doesn’t like his taxes the same as the guy who opens fire on an Imperial garrison. That’s just stupid. It makes even everyday citizens into Rebel sympathizers.

Sheev’s been in power too long and it’s showing. For what they say is true: absolute power corrupts absolutely. Twenty years into his reign as Emperor and over thirty-five years since he first became Chancellor, Sheev has been sitting atop the galaxy for far too long. As a result, he has a huge blind spot for the risks of the Rebellion. Sheev is convinced that with the Jedi gone, there is no real threat because no one alive can rival him in the Force. But with the Dark Side largely unopposed for decades now, Vader worries that the Light Side will have its own renaissance soon. Exterminating the Jedi might end their religion, but it is hubris to believe that it will vanquish the Light as well. You cannot permanently defeat one half of the Force, no matter what those Dark Side Sith sorcerer cookbooks Sheev obsessively reads say.

In fact, there are times in meditation when Vader swears he can sense imminent change. Lately, there are perplexing new patterns in the universal consciousness, unexplained eddies and flows in the Force, that both intrigue and trouble him. That Death Star pilot has him very worried as a result. Luckily, his Master won’t sense them. Sheev has so completely embraced Darkness that his mind is closed to all but the Shadow Force. Plus, even as a Sith, Vader still senses the Light easily. It is the legacy of being raised Jedi, he suspects. None of this would be an issue, of course, if he had lived up to his responsibilities as the Chosen One. If he had balanced the Force, the Jedi-Sith struggle would be at an end and the galaxy would be at peace. But he failed. And so, everyone suffers.

It makes him feel guilty and sad. Sure, he opposed the Death Star on the record. It was largely Sheev’s doing. But still, he feels responsible.

The only solution is to get back to work. To do what he can to mitigate the current crisis and to contain the conflict. To provide some pragmatic leadership to offset Sheev’s paranoid antics. And . . . to find that Rebel pilot. But instead, he is holed up in his castle. Weak and bored and increasingly infatuated with his refugee art critic houseguest.

He kissed that confounding woman in a moment of foolishness. He couldn’t stop himself. She was so beguiling in her melancholy beauty. Maybe in her sheer accessibility, too. Like many women, she seems to only see her faults and not her attributes. But he sees them. Vader was moved by her big, blue eyes and by her bright shiny hair. By her obvious intelligence and by her soft-spoken but at times very direct manner. Well, mostly he was moved by her goodness. Especially her ability to see goodness in him.

Some Sith he is.

Afterwards, he had panicked. Because what did he just start? What self-destructive folly is this? Vader decided that since Astral seemed determined to see the best in him, he would show her the worst of his character. He would give her a disgust of him, rather than reject her. That would let her down easy. The poor woman has had enough rejection, he decided. He refused to add to her pain.

But that plan had backfired spectacularly. She saw through him easily. And then suddenly, Astral was in his arms again. He lost his head once more. Things progressed rapidly from there. Suddenly, her head was in his lap and her red gold hair was spread over his thighs and he was living out one of his many fantasies of this woman. And far from getting her out of his system, he proceeded to burrow her a little deeper into his heart.

He’s never been sophisticated about sex and romance. He’s slept with exactly one woman and she married him. But the pattern is uncomfortably familiar. This is how he does things: he gets attached fast. He spent a few days on Naboo with his childhood crush, they had some silly picnics and intense dinners, he stole a kiss, and that was it. He was hopelessly in love. One near death experience on Geonosis later, he lost an arm but gained a secret wife. He defied the Jedi Order to commit to Padme. After a brief honeymoon spent gorging on each other’s bodies, he kissed her goodbye and went to war.

After that, they had only sporadic stolen moments, many of them completely arm’s length as he and Padme stood in the midst of others pretending to be just a Jedi and a Senator. The circumstances were hard and they only got harder. But he never wavered. He loved her. And when he loves, he loves completely. He gets attached fast and forever.

And that’s why Astral presents all sorts of problems. But she presents possibilities, too. Those possibilities keep him up late fantasizing. It’s lustful dreams of the one woman who sees past his scars and understands the meaning of the helmet and the suit. She knows who he is and who he was. And last night, she sucked his burn scarred dick in the living room. It was amazing. Padme never did that unless it was his birthday.

Predictably, he’s hooked and ready for more. He always wants more. Plus, twenty years is a long dry spell. But time is running short. He’s got a few weeks more at best before Sheev summons him back to work. And then this woman will disappear from his life and he’ll be scouring the galaxy ostensibly looking for Rebels but really looking for that pilot. So, time is of the essence now.

That’s why the next night Vader finds himself standing on his side of the doors that adjoin their respective bedchambers, debating what to do. This is madness, he knows. But there’s no fool like an old fool and he’s an old fool now. The worst she can do is reject him, right? He can handle that. He’s the most hated man in the galaxy, so he’s developed a very thick skin.

He waves a hand and the double doors between their adjoining rooms slide open. The living space was always designed to be shared, with one room an extension of the other. Back when the castle was designed, Vader had been full of optimism that he would revive Padme. Sheev had encouraged him in the pursuit. Because, of course, his Master wanted to learn the secret of reviving the dead for his own immortality. But that all seems so long ago now. Vader deliberately puts Padme out of his mind as he walks into her bedroom intent on seducing another woman.

The lights are dimmed but the curtains are open, bathing the room in the red glow of Mustafar. Astral stands in profile watching the waterfall as she brushes her hair. It’s shorter than he expected. Not much past her shoulders. But lush like he remembers. She’s wearing a short tank style nightgown in ivory. Like everything Astral wears, it is excellent quality but very spare in its design. Apparently, even her lingerie is edited down to its essence, with no extraneous decoration.

Astral looks up. She doesn’t smile. Instead she slowly lowers the brush. “I knew you would come.”

It’s not exactly a warm welcome. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No?” Her voice ends up. It’s a very unconvincing answer. Astral is nervous, he realizes. Her anxiety is screaming out to him in the Force. And that actually gives him confidence. He’s nervous too.

“I will leave if you wish,” he offers, now totally undercutting his plan to swoop in to play the seducer. Vader wants to reclaim some control of the situation. Last night had felt like she was seducing him. But he only wants to do this if she wants to do this.

When Astral doesn’t answer immediately, he silently stands his ground to press the issue. Silence is a very effective negotiating tool.

It works. She places the hair brush on a table and blushes scarlet as she tells him, “Don’t go.”

Satisfied, he once again becomes the aggressor. Moving forward to intercept her. She’s lovely with her cloud of copper hair loose about her neck and shoulders. She smells like soap. Like she’s just come from the shower. Up close, he sees how delicate her silk nightgown is. And how sheer. It’s clear from the intriguing shadows and outlines on the light-colored fabric that she’s wearing nothing underneath. And now, his hands are itching to palm her breasts and to trace the curve of her waist and hip.

Is he leering? He watches as she shifts her stance uncomfortably. Yes, he’s leering. So he reaches to cup her cheek, his skeletal metal hand cold against her warm softness. “Astral,” he begins.

“Yes?” she immediately answers.

“You are beautiful.” Beautiful inside and out. She might think herself average, but in fact she is very distinctive. She’s just very understated amid a brash culture that celebrates ‘look at me’ excess and shock value. In that context, Vader could see how this quiet, dignified, not-so-young woman gets overlooked. While everyone else is angling for attention, Astral stands on the sidelines. Maybe that comes off as aloof for some, but she’s far from uncaring. And while she speaks softly, that doesn’t mean she has nothing of value to say. Does her obvious intelligence intimidate some men? Or maybe her posh Core accent that marks her for a true patrician? He could see how Astral isn’t the outgoing friendly type who puts a man at ease right away. She’s more the type to have a long, free ranging intellectual debate over a bottle of wine. Not that they will ever do that, of course. He can’t give her that or much of anything. Mostly, all he can offer her is danger. So, he tries to build her up like she builds him up too. “You are beautiful. Never let anyone convince you otherwise.”

She nods gravely. This is how they communicate. There are no non-material conversations between them. She is intense, like he is. A person more likely to implode than to explode. And that’s just one more way that life has changed him. For his younger self was a bit of a hotheaded. These days, he is far more measured and cautious. Except in this tonight. This feels like a mistake in the making, but he doesn’t care. He will rush into this folly with eyes wide open.

But still, he hesitates. “You don’t have to do this.” He only wants her if she’s willing. And he doesn’t want her feeling coerced by their relative positions of power. Padme didn’t have the Force, but they related as equals. That’s how he wants things with Astral.

She answers by stepping forward to embrace him. Yes, this is what he was hoping for--the feel of bare skin against bare skin. It’s why tonight he’s only wearing sleep pants. His bare chest is scrawny now from weight loss and muscle atrophy. But it’s as ugly as always. With burned, uneven, hairless skin that is deathly pale from decades without sun. With permanent electrical ports implanted high on his right shoulder where his chest plate wiring plugs in. He’s a cringeworthy sight. But not to Astral. Squeamish though she is, she doesn’t turn away from his wrecked body. Instead, she kisses it.

The feel of her lips on his chest is everything. The touch of her hands, the brush of her hair, the fresh, clean smell of soap. It is a feast for his senses. He has been so long without a human touch that was clinical. Before Astral, he can’t remember the last time anyone hugged him. As it is, he rarely interacts with people outside the suit. Never like this.

Who’s seducing who? In this moment, he would gladly give this woman anything to keep going as he stands passively for her attention. Her tongue drags along his collar bone and suddenly he’s weak in his artificial knees.

“Is this pity?” he rasps out. He has to know. His pride won’t let him do this if it is pity.

“No, my Lord,” Astral murmurs into his chest. “This is moving on.”

He’s confused. “How is this moving on?”

“Maybe not from Alderaan,” she explains. “But from Leo.”

He nods above her head. “And from Padme,” he adds, thinking of himself.

“Yes. For too long, my life has been defined by his mistake. I want to be free of that pain. My Lord, I need to start over in more ways than just where I live and where I work.”

Vader knows he does too. But he warns again, “I get attached.” Does she understand what that means?

Astral merely smiles up at him and nods. “So do I. It’s why I need to move on.”

His hands gather up her nightie now to caress underneath. He presses her close as he follows the slope of her backside. She’s a handful back there, far more than lean Padme. Who knew these full-blown curves were lurking under her neat and formal day dresses? He can’t wait to get the nightie over her head so he can discover what she’s been hiding up top under those severe dresses.

But first, he wants to kiss her. She rebuffs him. “Keep it on,” Astral whispers as she slides his oxygen mask back into place. “Breathe, my Lord,” she admonishes gently. Clearly, she fears a reprise of last night. Truthfully, he does too. But how he wishes he could sweep Astral up in his arms, drown her in kisses, and carry her off to bed. Then, he would make love to her all night long in the marathon of passion he remembers from his youthful furlough days.

But he’ll settle for this. Because this woman is the best thing that has happened to him in recent memory. He needs her moderate but moral perspective, he’s starting to crave her easy company, and he’s a fool for her open mind and open heart. Whether Astral realizes it or not, she is the forgiving type. He needs that in his life.

Her nightgown comes off, he pulls the drawstring for his pants to drop to the floor, and now they are on her bed naked in each other’s arms. He’s careful not to hurt her. He knows he’s all hard steel and electronics, with sharp angles and rough edges. He’s heavy too. Far heavier than a normal man. But if she minds him on top, she doesn’t show it. Still, he tries to keep his weight propped mostly on his knees and elbows. He can’t kiss her, so he nuzzles his cheek against hers. It’s not as intimate, but it’s something. Her hands stoke down his back and go lower. He’s really ready to go now.

They are seasoned adults, so they both know what’s happening next. They are way past the first base, second base, third base lead up to sex. After where things left off last night, there’s only one logical progression now. So when he rubs his erect body against her, she takes the cue. “Let me.” Astral reaches down to guide him in, saving him the indignity of fumbling blindly at her tender flesh with metal fingers. Astral grunts softly at the intrusion while he closes his eyes a moment. He revels in the feel of her. So slick, so warm, so tight. This is everything he remembers and more.

He tells himself that he will take his time to do this slowly. To make it as good for her as it will be for him. But that intention not to rush evaporates in the moment. And now, he is slamming into her body with emphatic movements. It’s too much sensation and that makes it too soon. He’s overly excited and far too primed for this delicious friction. At most thirty-seconds later, with a guttural groan Darth Vader is through.

She’s not, of course.

That is not what he had intended. “I got there too fast . . .” he pants, looming over her. “I’m sorry . . . It’s been too long . . . I will do better next time . . . “ He’s feeling a fool. Like some overeager teenage lover. Or worse, some selfish jerk. “Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?“ She doesn’t answer. So, he presses his cheek to hers and whispers into her ear, “Padme, talk to me.”

It’s the absolute wrong thing to say at the very worst moment. But it slips out anyway. He feels Astral stiffen beneath him and he immediately sits up to shift off of her.

“I’m fine,” she replies as she rolls over to face away.

He cringes. “Astral—“

“I’m fine.”

“No, don’t. Don’t turn away from me. Please.”

She says nothing.

“That was bad of me.”

She nods but looks over her shoulder to observe, “It was honest.”

“Maybe a little too honest.” Vader lays down behind her now, nestling close. He’s miserable with how this night has developed and it keeps getting worse. “It’s just that things between her and I were left unresolved. That makes it hard,” he confesses, feeling his face flame.

“I know,” Astral agrees. She is silent a long moment before she shifts to face him. Astral solemnly says, “I can’t be her.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” she wonders.

“Yes. We were all wrong for each other. I see that now.”

“But you still love her.”

“She’s gone,” Vader reminds Astral. “She’s never coming back. And I want to move forward now. With you.”

Casual sex has never been his thing. In his youth, there were other Jedi who quietly engaged in serial affairs, but not him. He married his queen because he’s always been a commitment kind of guy. Even all these years later, he’s still prone to attachments. His life has many secrets, but one of the best kept truths of Darth Vader is that he’s an incurable romantic. So, anxious to make amends and wanting more of this woman, he impulsively blurts out, “I will marry you.”

The offer makes her smile. Finally, he’s doing something right. “You’re sweet.” Astral kisses his cheek before she turns him down. “But that’s not necessary.”

“Necessary is not the standard.”

“You don’t love me,” she responds.

“That’s not the standard either.”

“Sure, it is. That’s always the standard.”

“It wasn’t enough last time,” he points out.

Astral turns his argument against him. “You’re right. Even if we were in love, we shouldn’t get married,” she decides. “We’re both past all that. That’s for kids. For young people who are going start a family and do the usual thing. We’re past all that.”

He’s not. It’s why he kept the faith with his betraying wife for decades after she was gone. “You’re never past love,” he rumbles softly. Love is like hope. No matter how foolhardy it is, it’s still part of life.

Astral sighs. “My Lord, you don’t love me.” Her flat voice and formality tell him that he’s making her uncomfortable. 

But he persists: “I could love you.”

“Let’s not do this to ourselves, okay?” Astral shifts to lay her head atop his chest. She reaches to lace her hand through his. It’s a small gesture that charms him. It also softens her rejection. “Besides, when you’re recovered, I’m fired and banished to Coruscant, remember?”

He recants. “I rescind the order. You get a reprieve Stay here. Stay with me,” he urges.

“And live here in your volcano?”

“Don’t you like it?” he teases, trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s growing on me.”

“The castle comes complete with a monster.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“You be the beauty, I’ll be the beast,” he offers.

She’s annoyed now. “Stop it! You’re no beast and I’m no beauty,” she grumbles.

“Yes, you are. When I first saw you on the freighter, I thought you were beautiful. I opened my eyes to see a beautiful lady come to rescue me,” he reminisces.

She remembers things differently. “I recall you grabbing my throat.”

“You were taking my mask off,” he reminds her. “Come to think if it, ever since I met you, you have been trying to take my clothes off. And tonight, you succeeded,” he congratulates her. “Stay with me,” he’s whining a little now but he can’t help it. “Be attached to me,” he wheedles.

“How about we see each other now and then on Coruscant?” Astral counters.

“That’s too hard. I’ve done the long-distance thing. It never works.”

“Soon, you’ll be gone all the time anyway. Chasing Rebels for Sheev, right?”

Right. “But if you’re here, then I will have something to come home to,” he points out.

“My Lord, you’ve been lecturing me for two months now on how I need to move on. It’s time to go find my dream job, remember? I’m supposed to take the art world by storm—"

“I rescind all that too.” He sits up now and she does as well. Taking her hands in his, he looks her in the eye as he tells her with utmost sincerity, “Astral, I’m serious. I could love you. Could you love me?” he asks hopefully.

She’s taken aback as she blinks at him. “I thought we had both sworn off love.”

“We don’t have to call it love. We just need to make each other happy. And you don’t have to marry me, I just want you to be with me. So, what do you say? Will you join me?” he asks.

Astral never gets a chance to answer. A loud crash interrupts them. It’s breaking glass followed by a loud thud. An incessant alarm now starts to sound throughout the castle.

Astral’s head whips around. “Whaat?”

Vader doesn’t stop to answer. He knows what it means. He bounds from the bed and rushes through the doors to his adjoining rooms. He calls his saber to his hand from his bedside table with the Force. Then he grabs for the blaster he keeps hidden in a drawer. Rushing back through the double doors, he waves a hand to close them and to secure the lock. Then he lobs the blaster at Astral as he yanks on his pants.

His instructions come out in rapid fire succession. There’s no time to waste. “Take the gun. Hide in the closet. Shoot anyone who comes in. Don’t ask questions. Don’t hesitate. They are here to kill me, but they will kill you if you get in the way. Understand?”

“What’s going on?” Astral wails.

“Hide!” he answers. They don’t have time to discuss this in committee. Any minute now, someone will be busting through that door to kill him. Vader lights his sword and heads out the door to the hallway, locking it behind him. This is where the fun begins, he thinks grimly, as he feels his adrenaline start pumping. Even after all these years, combat is a rush. And what a night, he thinks. First comes the sex, next comes the violence. Hopefully, the second part will go better than the first.

He doesn’t have to go far to meet his first victim. Vader finds an Inquisitor prowling the living room. It tells him that Sheev’s not messing around this time. His Master didn’t send a squad of stormtroopers to be slaughtered, he sent trained Force users with sabers. Great, just great. This could be a real challenge.

Vader takes a deep breath, summons the Force, and focuses his mind. There are five assailants hunting him, he senses. Hopefully, they’re not all Inquisitors. He’s not up for prolonged lightsaber combat. He’s far too weak for that and he just exerted himself with Astral in the bedroom. He needs to conserve his strength and do this as efficiently as possible. Preferably, mostly with the Force.

So as the first Inquisitor attacks, Vader fights first with his mind. He freezes his assailant with the Force, immobilizing him for a single swing that takes his head. One down, four to go now.

Down the hall, blaster fire sounds. It must be Levy. The doctor is reasonably good with a gun. He can take care of himself, Vader decides. And it will keep at least one other attacker busy. 

Vanee will head down to the basement to warm up the escape craft most likely. That should keep him out of the line of fire, Vader hopes.

He surprises the next assassin in the kitchen. It’s the Twi’lek Third Sister. She’s good with a sword but weak with the Force. Back in the day, the Jedi Order would not have considered her sensitive enough to train. But beggars can’t be choosers, and these days parents aren’t exactly volunteering their Force sensitive children to the Empire. That’s why most of the Inquisitors are former Jedi Padawans who read the writing on the wall and turned to the Dark Side. All in all, they are a lackluster bunch who would be no match for a Sith Lord were he in better health.

“Who are the others?” Vader demands as he dodges and weaves to avoid the Sister’s swings. He’s looking for his opening, unwilling to waste any of his own strength swinging for a blow that won’t kill or maim.

“You’re not looking so good, Lord Vader,” she sneers.

“Who are the others?” he persists.

“I will be the Grand Inquisitor when I kill you. Lord Sidious promises it.”

Vader smirks. “And someday, if you’re exceptionally lucky, you can be me. Doing this. Be careful what you wish for, Sister.”

“You are too weak, Lord Vader,” she shoots back. “Only the strong survive on the Dark Side.”

He doesn’t have to listen to lectures from her. He’ll show her weak. Vader digs deep to summon the Force. He is still the Chosen One, after all. The ultimate favorite of the Force even if he has yet to fulfill his destiny. Dark or Light, the Force is with him because he is its first born. And wayward, prodigal son though he may be, he keeps the faith. Because whether Jedi or Sith, his god is the Force, not himself. That’s what separates him from Sheev. And that’s why the Force will protect him now . . . he hopes.

Vader clenches his left fist and the Third Sister takes her last breath. He crushes her heart within her chest from two meters away. She drops to the floor dead. The Force never fails him when he needs it most. Whether he’s aflame and maimed on a lava riverbank or weak and struggling half naked with a sword in his unsteady hand, the Force comes through and he survives. Whatever happens, the Chosen One endures. In very bleak times, that belief alone has given Vader reason to live. He hopes it means his destiny still lies ahead, for the Force has not yet given up on him. And that means he can’t give up on himself either.

But for now, he’s done here. Two down, three to go.

“My Lord!” It’s Levy. He bursts into the kitchen barefoot in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, blaster in hand. “I got one,” he pants. “There’s two more somewhere. I saw them enter. They split up to find you. Three have swords. The other two are Purge Troopers.”

“The troopers are here for distraction,” Vader concludes. “Who’d you kill?”

“A trooper.”

“That leaves one of each left.”

Evidently, the Third Sister relayed his position before she died because now the final trooper bursts into the kitchen, gun blazing. Vader reacts fast to deflect the shots with his sword. Still, one gets Levy and he goes down. Angered, Vader closes his fist again and neatly stops the Purge Trooper’s heart.

“Is it bad?” Vader demands of the fallen doctor.

“I’ll live. It’s a bad graze, that’s all,” Levy chokes as he clutches at his bleeding torso. “Go get the last one, my Lord. Kill him!”

Vader nods and then freezes as more blaster fire sounds. It’s three quick shots. And that’s not what he’s expecting from his remaining Inquisitor foe. Surely, the last enemy will be wielding a lightsaber, not a gun. Suddenly, the meaning sinks in. “Astral!” Vader growls as he dashes down the hall.

The door to her bedroom is wide open, like he fears. Inside, he finds a dramatic sight. Trembling Astral is clad only in a bedsheet wrapped loosely around her. She stands with her right arm still raised to point a hot blaster. There’s a dead Inquisitor on the floor a few feet away with his head blown off.

“Good shot.” Vader nods his approval. “Looks like you got your man.”

Astral doesn’t respond. She just stands there blinking, her lips in a tight straight line. Even in the dim light, Vader can see the unshed tears shining in her eyes. Astral is staring at the dead Inquisitor on the ground. It is the Rodian Twelfth Brother. He was the weakest of the bunch. And now, he’s dead to a Force-blind woman who had never shot a blaster before in her life. So, it’s a good thing he died tonight. Otherwise, Vader might have made his death a little less instant purely for his incompetence.

Vader plucks the blaster from her grip with the Force. He checks the safety and throws it on the bed. “Are you alright?” he asks as he approaches.

Vanee now rushes up from behind. The old guy is in his pajamas, for once not dressed in his flowing black robes. “The ship is prepped, my Lord.”

“Stand down,” he orders. “The danger is over.”

“Very good, Sir.” Vanee looks from him to Astral and back again. Wrapped in a bedsheet, Astral appears the furthest thing from her usual severe coiffure and streamlined plain dresses. She looks like what she is: a woman roused from bed after a night of passion. Her nightgown is even lying discarded on the floor. And surely Vanee recognizes that the blaster she used came from his room. Moreover, it cannot escape his notice that they are both mostly unclothed and he’s standing far too close to Astral. But Vanee is discreet as always. “Master, you are unharmed?” he asks.

“Not a scratch.”

“Good. Did you get the rest?”

“Levy got one. And one got Levy.”

“Oh, dear. How bad?”

“He says it’s just a graze.” Vader’s attention is still on Astral. “Are you alright?” he asks again.

Astral nods yes. But she is still trembling and pale. “They were Jedi come for you?” she guesses.

“No.”

“But I saw the sword--”

“They were Inquisitors. Force sensitive assassins that the Empire uses to hunt Jedi. This time, my Master sent them after me,” Vader explains.

“Oh,” Astral reacts, lifting scared eyes to his. “This was the test?”

“Yes. I passed.” He lived. That’s all that matters.

Relieved Vanee beams. “Team Sith wins again!” he proclaims triumphant.

“Not really,” Astral points out sourly. “We were fighting Team Sith, right?”

“That’s how it’s done,” Vader smirks. He turns to Vanee. “Levy’s in the kitchen. Slap a bacta patch on him, give him a stim shot, and get him dressed. He’s coming with me.”

“Yes, Master, I will go help him,” Vanee immediately volunteers. He exits fast, leaving him and Astral alone. Vader is sure that’s not a coincidence.

“Now what?” Astral asks.

“I report to my Master. It’s time to go back to work.”

“But you’re far from truly healed—“ she protests.

“I’m healed enough.”

“I see. So, you leave—

“Now.”

“Now??” she gasps, her eyes widening.

Vader nods. “As soon as I get dressed.” He places his hands on her upper arms, searching her worried eyes. “Astral, stay with me. I know this is sudden, but I want you to stay. Please,” he outright begs. It’s terrible timing for this discussion, but it’s all the time he’s got. “Let’s see where this goes,” he urges.

“S-Stay with you?” she stammers back in disbelief. Like perhaps she has misheard him. “Are you kidding me?? You want me to stay here after that??” She jabs a finger towards the body. Astral is fearful and who could blame her? There are a lot of risks to being with him. Tonight is just a taste of the danger.

But he presses his case. He matches his calm to her agitation in an old Jedi trick to deescalate a situation. But Sith that he is, he also coats his words with a heavy dose of suggestion in the Force. “Stay here at the castle for me.”

Not surprisingly, his strongminded Astral is not so easily led. “No! I don’t want this! I just k-killed that guy!” she shrieks.

“He would have killed you,” Vader counters calmly. “You did the right thing.”

“I heard him come in and he started to open the closet door and I shot him. I don’t think I even aimed.”

“You got him all the same,” Vader commends. “Well done.”

Distraught Astral is still processing what she’s done. “But I just killed that man!” she wails.

Vader nods slowly as he takes her in his arms. Astral needs a hug. Sure enough, as soon as she lays his head against his chest, she bursts into tears. He lets her sob for a minute to vent her emotions.

“This is my life. This is the Dark Side of the Force. It has risk,” he admits as he strokes her hair.

She nods into his body and her voice is muffled. “Too much risk for me.”

“I will take care of you,” he promises. “I will protect you.”

Astral pulls back to challenge, “How can you do that when you’re not around?”

“The assassins and the Rebels will be coming for me, not you,” he points out.

“Yes. But tonight, they hurt the doctor too. Just being near you brings risk!”

He can’t argue with that. “This is where you will be safest. Someone might find you on Coruscant to use you as hostage.”

“Oh my Gods!” she exclaims, her hand flying to her temple. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

His enemies will. “It’s true.” He won’t sugarcoat things and mislead Astral. He wants her to stay of her own volition because he’s worth the risk. But the look on her face tells him that she won’t be convinced. Vader drops the subject. He knows a losing battle when he sees one. “Get dressed,” he instructs Astral. “Help Vanee with the doctor. I’m going to take a shower and get in the suit.”

When he returns fully dressed with his helmet under his arm, he finds Astral, Vanee, and Levy near the exit to the landing pad. They have piled the bodies of all five assassins haphazardly on three large floating gurneys borrowed from the infirmary.

“Put them on board,” Vader orders.

“We’re not throwing them in the lava?” Astral is confused. She is a beautiful hot mess standing barefoot with her hair down around her shoulders and her dress not fully zipped in the back. 

“I’m going to do what I always do with the bodies of assassins,” he answers.

Her wary eyes slant to him. She looks afraid to ask.

So he volunteers, “I throw them on Sheev’s desk.”

Vanee snickers and explains to Astral, “It’s sort of a ‘good to be back’ gesture for the boss.“

“Oh.”

“Go on,” Vader gestures to Vanee and Levy. “Get them onboard.” The two men depart to load the dead men onto the shuttle that they arrived on. Their ship will be his ride back to Coruscant. The task leaves Vader alone with Astral again. Time to reup his offer now that she’s had a chance to regain her composure.

“Stay,” he rasps.

She shakes her head an emphatic no. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I think I need to get away from here . . . far, far away from here . . . away from . . . ” She doesn’t finish her sentence. Astral just looks down, unwilling to meet his eyes. It reveals her unspoken sentiment: she wants to get away from him. She starts sputtering anew now. “Look, if things were different . . . if you weren’t you . . . but you’re not . . . and I . . . I’m . . . scared,” she finishes miserably.

“Very well.” Disappointed, he concedes defeat. Maybe another Sith might imprison Astral here against her will, but he’s never been that kind of guy. He only wants volunteers in his bed. And besides, this isn’t about sex. Well, sure it’s about sex. But it’s about so much more. You cannot compel love, Vader knows. And so, while the Sith in him wants to covet and possess Astral, the Jedi in him knows it’s best to let go. Fear of loss is what got him into his current situation, after all. It’s a lesson he learned the hard way. And in the end, he lost Padme anyway. He will not repeat the mistake with Astral.

Resigned now, he gives her parting instructions. “Vanee will get you settled on Coruscant,” he promises. “He’ll get you a place to live, a speeder, and some credits to get you started. He’ll leave you a comlink to reach him. If you need help, contact him.”

She nods. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Do not be shy to ask for help,” he tells her sternly. “There’s no shame in needing help.”

“Yes, my Lord.” She’s humoring him.

“Vanee will make arrangements for you to return the paintings. The last painting remains here.”

“Whaaat?” That gets her attention.

“You heard me.” Vader is firm on this point. “The painting of the Jedi general is confiscated by the Empire. The owner can claim for the insurance.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she demands.

“You know why. Tell the owner that pro-Jedi propaganda in any form was outlawed years ago. That painting is dangerous.”

“That’s ridiculous!” She’s outraged.

“Life isn’t fair, Astral. And whatever rich guy you borrowed it from probably won’t miss the credits or the painting. He likely has a dozen more better ones hanging on his walls.”

Vanee reappears now to report, “The doctor’s onboard the ship. He’s setting the coordinates for the jump and priming the engines. His things are loaded. We’re ready to go when you are, Master.”

Fuming Astral eyes him hostilely and crosses her arms. “So this is goodbye, then?”

“Yes.”

“Well, good luck, my Lord,” she tells him perfunctorily, as if she can’t wait for him to leave. For good measure she adds a glare. Like this is her castle and he’s the servant being dismissed.

Vanee raises a questioning eyebrow his direction, but Vader ignores it. In fact, he ignores Vanee altogether. “Astral, you can change your mind at any time. Think about it,” he urges. “Vanee will know how to contact me.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she answers automatically, looking away. She keeps nervously tucking and re-tucking her hair behind her ear, he notices.

He lingers a moment, extremely unhappy with how they are parting but feeling unable to change things now.

She is troubled too, but it’s not about him. After a long moment, Astral loudly announces, “I’m taking that painting,” with a mutinous glare.

Vader steps close, but she stands her ground. He’s about to wave a gloved finger under her nose as he forbids her to take the painting, but he reconsiders. Instead he sweeps aside his mask and swoops in to plant a quick kiss on her lips in full view of Vanee. He’s not leaving without a goodbye kiss. He may never see this woman again. “You can take that painting,” Vader growls at her displeased expression as he pulls back, “but only if you return to me.” Then he jams on his helmet and heads off to his latest war.

One busy week later, he is back on the flagship _Executor_ when his Intel mole Captain Groat makes contact. Groat has a Rebel pilot who returned home to visit his family in custody on Centares. It’s all off the record, of course. Vader won’t risk any further communications on the matter. He gives the order to begin interrogation and then hops aboard a shuttle to see the prisoner himself.

Groat meets him on the landing pad on Centares to fill him in on the meager progress. But when they get to the cell, they find that the overzealous interrogator has bungled the operation in a last-ditch effort to impress the arriving Darth Vader. The pilot is now dead. But not before he uttered one barely intelligible name that thankfully is very difficult to hear on the official recording: “Skywalker.”

_Skywalker_. Vader feels his heart skip a beat. It’s not possible with all his implanted biofunctions, of course. But that’s what it feels like. Like a too big gulp of air combined with a punch to the gut. Like a vicious kick to the groin. Like a nightmare you can’t wake from. This news changes everything.

_Skywalker._ If it’s true, it’s his worst fear come true. Now Vader understands why the Death Star pilot was so strong with the Force. Now he understands why Kenobi fled with the young man off Tatooine. This explains what Obi-Wan was doing on Tatooine in the first place. Very likely he was guarding the kid who worked the Lars family farm. Only the kid wasn’t the Lars son. He was a different sort of relative.

_Skywalker_. If he learns this news, his Master will be salivating at the opportunities it presents. Here’s Sheev’s chance for a new and improved Apprentice. Why keep broken down Anakin Skywalker if you can trade up to his son Luke? How much does that boy even know of his parents? Does he have any idea what it means to be the Force-strong son of the Chosen One? And does his son have any inkling how much danger he is now in? Because there are things far worse than dying as a Rebel, Vader knows from personal experience. This whole setup smacks of tragedy in the making. Especially given that Obi-Wan appears to have been his son’s Jedi Master.

Oh, Force . . . he has a bad, bad feeling about this. Just when Vader thought things couldn’t get worse, they have.

Incensed and panicking, Vader pulls his sword and kills the interrogator. Then he kills the guards and anyone else who possibly may have come into contact with the matter. He also destroys the recording. He considers killing Captain Groat too, but declines. The man has his uses.

Thoroughly unsettled and desperately needing to seek peace in meditation, Vader leaves Centares as promptly as he arrived. When he returns to the _Executor_, Groat has another message for him. The bounty the Empire put on Han Solo has not yet come in. But one of the bounty hunters pursuing the smuggler has come from Tatooine with other pertinent information. ‘Confirming information,’ as Groat’s message calls it.

Vader takes the meeting one on one. The bounty hunter postures as a Mandalorian, but he’s no Mandalorian. Vader doesn’t even deign to face him for the interview. He faces away ostensibly staring out into space as the hired gun confirms the Rebel pilot’s dying words: the young man who blew up the Death Star is named Skywalker. Luke Skywalker.

Vader lets the bounty hunter go. Unlike the Imperial personnel on Centares who learned the pilot’s identity, this Boba Fett character has no incentive to reveal the identity of the pilot further up the chain of command. Guys like him never volunteer information without handsome payment. Plus, for all the bounty hunter knows, he just disclosed it to a man who will relay it to the Emperor himself. Vader now gives the bounty hunter a separate mission to bring in Luke Skywalker. Better that the bounty hunter find him than the Empire, Vader knows. It will make it easier to cover up.

For one thing is now very clear: he must find his son before Sheev does. It’s the only chance he or his kid have in the long run. Vader’s head is splitting as he imagines all the ways that his Master could play him and his son off one another. Padme would be in despair were she alive to know this situation. The worst part is that Vader can’t tell anyone. It’s best that even Vanee thinks he is hunting the Death Star pilot for revenge. It protects him, it protects Vanee, and it protects his son. But it’s one more lonely secret that Darth Vader would rather not keep.

It makes him miss Astral more than ever, for she’s the closest thing to a confidante he has. It also underscores how wise she was to leave him. Because just when he thinks he can truly move on, the ghosts of the past rise up to confront him. For so many years, he prayed to the Force to send Padme back. The Force was listening. But instead of sending him his wife, it sent him his son. For what reason? The galaxy will soon find out. And that just begs the question—where is his daughter? How will she play into this mix?


	12. chapter 12

She killed a man. As horrifying as that had felt last night, it feels even worse the next morning. Especially when Astral sees the large bloodstain mark on the rug in her borrowed bedroom. It’s the wake-up call to remind her to stop second guessing her decision to leave. Because next time she might not shoot straight and that bloodstain could be from her.

Astral always knew there was danger living here. Those first few weeks, she took plenty of shifts on guard duty. Vanee had been very concerned about Rebel intruders. But then Lord Vader had done away with guard duty and the danger seemed to come from him more than anyone else. After all, Darth Vader was the one who did the killing at the castle as far as she could tell. But now as Astral sees the newly returned guards positioned on the landing pad and at the castle entrances in rotating shifts around the clock, she realizes how much she had underestimated the risks of living with a Sith.

Lord Vader never hid the danger. She just sort of ignored it, allowing herself to be lulled into a false sense of security. It’s the Alderaan in her showing. They were a peaceful people with no weapons and very little crime. Violence was something that happened elsewhere on worlds she saw on the holonet. Never in places or to people she knew.

In hindsight, her bizarre two-month sojourn at Mustafar seems a little unreal. Did that all actually happen? Did she really throw a body into lava? Did she really gun down an assassin? Did she really go to bed with Darth Vader? She did. Yes, to all of the above. It’s so out of character. It’s almost like those are the actions of some other woman, not her. Because Astral Sidhu doesn’t do things like that. She’s a law abiding, responsible citizen who makes good decisions and is generally risk adverse. Well . . . she was that woman until a Sith Lord came into her life.

It’s time for things to get back to normal, she decides. To live among regular people and to work a real job. To reclaim a sense of peace and purpose. After last night, Astral is done hanging out here. She has worried for weeks about the daunting prospect of starting again. But now those fears are gone. Suddenly, she can’t wait for the challenge of Coruscant. Because that seems far more doable and low risk than remaining here at Mustafar. All the change she has been reluctant to begin Astral is now ready to embrace. For something about last night’s dramatic events has put her priorities in focus. Suddenly, she’s anxious to leave.

The regular castle staff returns almost immediately. It’s a cook, a nurse, a maintenance man, a few housekeeping droids, and a maid. The staff have been cooling their heels at Lord Vader’s palace on Coruscant for the past two months. Everyone is happy to be back and full of concerns for the Master. Astral looks on as Vanee fills them in on the highlights. 

New faces keep arriving. The following day, workmen invade the castle. There are furnishings to be replaced and repairs to be made, especially in the upstairs kitchen where there are blaster scorch marks on the walls and cabinets. Now, the castle feels crowded to Astral. But somehow, it also manages to feel empty as well. It’s hard not to miss Lord Vader after spending two full months in a household that revolves around him. His abrupt absence leaves a big void at Mustafar.

Moreover, with the return of the staff, suddenly the whole atmosphere shifts to become much more formal. The castle runs like a workplace now, and less like a home. It tells Astral just how unusual and casual the ad hoc living arrangements have been during her brief tenure. These days, no one will be munching cookies for a late-night snack. Dinner is an affair that requires a tablecloth and two forks. It’s a far cry from peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off. Everyone addresses each other with arm’s length titles—she’s Ms. Sidhu or ‘The Guest’ now. No one’s pitching in to help either, for there are clear demarcations of responsibility and hierarchy. Astral, naturally, is separate from all that. She increasingly feels like an outsider, and that’s just one more reason to be glad to move on.

Moving on begins with returning the paintings. Now that Astral’s stint at the castle is done, she contacts the owner’s representative. Astral has never had any direct contact with the actual owner. As is typical for these mogul types, you deal with intermediaries. But the message is relayed back that the owner is overjoyed with the news that the paintings survived. He is anxious for their safe return. Astral consults with Vanee and commits to a date two days hence to arrive with the artwork. 

Vanee finds her later that day with the news, “The cargo shuttle is here. We’re ready to load up. Would you like to oversee things?” Vanee knows how protective she is about the paintings.

“Oh, yes. Tell the guys that I’m taking all of them.”

Vanee beams. “How glad I am to hear it.”

He misunderstands. “It’s not what you think—“

“Of course, it is,” Vanee gives her a knowing look. “One doesn’t negotiate with a Lord of the Sith. One accepts their deal and prays they don’t alter it.”

“No,” Astral fumes. “That’s not it. He doesn’t get to do this. That ‘heads I win, tails you lose’ thing won’t work with me,” she announces. “That last painting doesn’t belong to the Empire. I committed to return it safely to its rightful owner. If Lord Vader wants it so badly, he can take it with up with the man personally.”

Vanee raises an eyebrow at this staunch declaration. “Be careful, Astral,” he warns. “That’s what you think taking the painting means, but Lord Vader might understand it differently.”

“Oh, I think he knows exactly what I think about that painting,” she grumbles.

This time, with others around to help, loading the artwork takes only a few minutes. It’s not the ten sweaty round trips from outside down to the vault that she and Vanee did weeks ago. Satisfied that the paintings are safely stowed, Astral collects her own meager possessions and now she’s set to go.

“Are you sure you don’t want some company for the flight?” Vanee wants to confirm again.

“I’ll be fine. I know you are anxious to get back to Coruscant.” Vanee wants to check on Lord Vader’s fancy palace that he has been away from for months now.

“Very well. But I’m sending you with a fighter escort—“

“That’s not necessary.”

“It will ease my mind. Do it for me. I don’t like sending a woman alone to the edge of the galaxy,” Vanee frets.

“I’m hardly alone. There are five guys on the shuttle,” she points out. “And, I picked up those paintings on my own, remember? I’m hardly some helpless little woman.” Really, his paternalism, however well intentioned, sort of grates.

“Well, you did gun down that Inquisitor,” Vanee recalls aloud. “But still . . . the galaxy is so unsettled of late and there are unsavory types who hide in the Outer Rim. Who is this owner fellow again? Is he reputable?” Vanee worries.

“He checks out. The museum did some digging to be sure. He’s some alien financier who turned recluse after his family was killed in an accident and he was injured. He buys and sells a lot of art.”

“You’re sure he’s not a spice kingpin who fronts as a legitimate businessman? Or some money launderer? Maybe some slaver--”

“Vanee, don’t fret. The owner wasn’t even there when I collected the works originally. It was just his lawyer and his assistant. It was all very above board and genteel,” she remembers. “Now, stop fussing. I will return the artwork and then meet you on Coruscant. It will go fine, I promise.”

“Oh, very well,” he relents. “Take care, Astral.”

She gives Vanee an impulsive hug, grabs her bag, and heads for the waiting shuttle. She’s excited. She’s been looking forward to returning the paintings. It will help put some closure to her life on Alderaan by tying up the one remaining loose end. Then, after her brief stop on the farthest reaches of the Rim, she’ll head to the galaxy’s Core. It’s time to start her new life on Coruscant.

Still, she halts at the top of the shuttle ramp and turns to take one last, long look back at the castle. Astral wonders what its fearsome owner is doing now. Will she will ever see Lord Vader again? Astral can’t shake the nagging suspicion that she has thrown away happiness and given in to fear. But the truth is that she only has so much courage right now. And she wants to use that courage to build a new life for herself.

This time, the trip with the paintings goes smoothly. The cargo shuttle makes good time in lightspeed and soon settles down on the landing pad for the owner’s country estate. The sprawling villa is just as remote and picturesque as Astral remembers. She is expected, of course. There are several people awaiting her arrival. Astral greets the lawyer and the house manager she met before and she is introduced to two insurance representatives who are here for an inspection. There is a round of handshakes, a bit of small talk, and some smoothly phrased expressions of sympathy her direction. Then, the house manager snaps his fingers and a group of uniformed men immediately appear to unload the artwork.

As they work, the house manager takes Astral aside to inform her that the owner is in residence. He would like to meet her. “Yes, of course.” Astral immediately accepts. She would very much like to thank him in person for the loan of his paintings. While the exhibit never occurred, she appreciates his willingness to support it.

“This way, please.” The house manager directs her away from where the shuttle’s contents are being unloaded and into the heart of the expansive manor house. Astral follows but once inside, she is immediately distracted. It’s not by the beautifully appointed interior but by what’s hanging on the walls.

“Is that a Dahli? Oh, it is!” Astral is downright giddy to see such a rare and precious work. She claps her hands with girlish excitement as she approaches for a better look. “Oh, my,” she breathes out in happy dismay as she takes in the important composition. “In person, it’s everything I knew it would be from the images.”

She’s totally unaware that she is being observed by anyone other than the house manager until a deep baritone voice speaks from her left. “Oh, but how charming a scene. A lovely woman observing a lovely painting. One wonders where to look when so much beauty is displayed at once.”

Astral’s head turns in the direction of the cultured patrician voice. The speaker is a very tall humanoid whose face is exceeding damaged. Well, maybe he is humanoid. He could be a Muun. It’s hard to tell with his somewhat collapsed visage. But those clawed hands are definitely not human. Astral blinks a moment, but does not react. Her experience with Lord Vader has made her sensitive to not make anyone especially distinctive feel freakish. Plus, this man has very kind eyes. They are deep set and blue and they smile at her as much as his crooked lips do.

It prompts Astral to smile back over her shoulder. “I didn’t think any of these existed outside of major museums. Even then, so few survive,” she gushes.

“Yes. Such a pity so many are lost. The Clone Wars murdered a lot of great art.” The man walks towards her. He has a twisting, uneven gait that is slow and somewhat painful to watch. From that, Astral surmises that what she can’t see under his stately robes matches his damaged face. He reaches her side and joins her in admiration of the painting. “I’ve had it many years. Since long before you were born. I bought it from the estate of the slain Banking Clan Chairman Hego Damask.”

The now slightly nervous looking house manager speaks up to do the introductions. “My Prince, may I present Astral Sidhu of the—“

“Alderaan Museum of Modern Art,” her host finishes. He favors her with a courtly bow that belongs to a bygone era. It’s surprisingly smooth for his infirmity. “Long have I waited to meet you,” he welcomes her.

Astral grins back impishly. “Three years, I believe?” It took forever to negotiate terms for the loan of the paintings. “It is a very great honor to meet you, Prince Venamis.”

“Oh, I assure you, the honor is all mine,” her host corrects her. “I have been looking forward to this. Thank you for returning my paintings. I understand that they—and you—narrowly escaped disaster.”

“Yes. We were very lucky.”

“My dear, in my experience, there’s no such thing as luck.” It’s a glib line gruffly delivered that oddly reminds Astral of Lord Vader. “My lawyer tells me that the original transport was impounded by Imperial authorities.”

“Yes.” Astral now tells a somewhat redacted version of the truth. “We rescued an Imperial pilot from the remains of the space station that was blown up. The pilot ended up needing urgent medical attention. But unfortunately, when we returned him to Coruscant, the freighter was delayed and impounded. I’m afraid we became ensnared in both the confusion of the terror plot, the Rebels, and the aftermath of Alderaan.”

“That explains your military escort and shuttle, I presume. For a moment,” her host flashes a wry grin, “I feared we were being invaded. Either that, or my old friend Sheev Palpatine was coming for a long overdue visit.”

“I would have returned the artwork sooner, but that was not an option. There were . . . impediments,” Astral is vague.

But unlike his lawyer, her host does not press for details. “You just saved my insurance company a lot of credits,” he chuckles. “Let us go see them, shall we?”

Astral follows the slow-moving prince back to an enormous viewing gallery where the crates with the paintings are being opened. The insurance representatives and lawyer are busy photographing them and inspecting them for damage.

“I believe everything is in order,” Astral speaks up.

“The original seal on each crate has been broken. These were opened, Sir,” the lawyer speaks up.

“Yes. While in Imperial custody, they were inspected,” Astral explains. It’s technically true. “There is no damage.”

“Finish your inspection,” the prince instructs, “but we are accepting them home no questions asked.” He turns back to Astral to confide, “I prize these works. I have pieces that are of much greater financial worth, but these have sentimental value. I quite like this one.” The prince gestures to their right to the last painting of the series. The one that gave Lord Vader so much consternation. “Marvelous, isn’t he?”

“The Jedi General,” she breathes out and nods. “So heroic as he faces long odds . . . “

“Uhmmm . . . yes . . . yesss . . . ” the prince purrs out his agreement. “Skywalker was the visionary hero of the Clone Wars, but alas the name is but a footnote in the history books.”

Astral knows better, but she makes no comment.

“Not many recognize the significance of these works beyond their historical context. They are not the usual thing that sells.” The prince slants an approving glance her direction. “You have an eye, Astral Sidhu. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. That is a high compliment coming from such a discerning collector.”

The prince smirks. Again, she is reminded of Lord Vader. But unlike the cynical sarcasm the Sith might give her in response, this man is happily self-effacing. “Flattery from a woman is a vice of mine,” he declares with a twinkle in his deep-set blue eyes. “I never tire of it. Tell me something else charming while I show you my latest acquisition. I need to brag on it some for the astronomical price I paid.”

The debonair prince now proceeds to give her a tour of his current collection on display. He has so many pieces that he rotates them quarterly because he lacks sufficient viewing space even in his giant rural palace. The palace is one of several residences, she learns, as the prince jokes that he lives well in his ‘exile.’ Astral thoroughly enjoys herself as they chat away about art. The man is very engaging with a sly wit and a courtly manner. And he is so animated that in mere minutes she begins to look past his deformities. He must have been a handsome man before his injuries, she decides. For in fleeting moments, vestiges of that prior appeal remain. Something about his infectious laugh and smirking grin are still very attractive even if his face is quite ruined. It’s not unlike Lord Vader’s charisma, she thinks. For like with Lord Vader, Astral is drawn to who the prince is, not what he looks like. Age and infirmity have not obscured his engaging personality. The man is regal and yet very approachable.

She can’t help but notice all the security they pass. Astral comments on it. Her host nods. “I have learned to be more careful. Long ago, I amassed a good collection of ancient religious artifacts,” he explains, “but they were stolen by an associate of mine.”

“How terrible.” Theft has long plagued the art world. It causes insurance rates to skyrocket and deters benefactors from lending works to museums. Far too many masterpieces remained locked away from public viewing as a result.

“Indeed,” the prince sighs, “I was most displeased with the whole affair. I hold a grudge, Ms. Sidhu,” he confides.

“Were you able to recover any pieces?”

“Not yet. But I will.” He flashes a conspiratorial grin. “I know who has them, and one day I fully intend to steal them back.”

Astral giggles. “You sound serious.”

“I am.” He changes the topic now. “Ms. Sidhu, I am sorry for the loss of your world. What will you do next?”

“I plan to start a new life on Coruscant. I’m headed there after this.”

“Ah, yes,” he approves, “the bright center of the universe and the center of the art world. Coruscant is the perfect spot for you, my dear. Tell me, have you a place to stay and the means to start over?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Very good. And have you found a new position?”

“Not yet.” She hasn’t even started looking.

“So I suspected. Allow me to do a good deed.” The prince reaches into his pocket to produce a small datafile that he presents to Astral. “This is the contact information for my art friend on Coruscant. Go see him when you get settled. He will find a job for you that befits your talents.”

A job? Astral blinks in surprise. It’s what she needs most right now. “I don’t know what to say—“

“I am a very good customer. He owes me a favor. So, go see him so I will feel better about the outrageous commissions he charges. That firm is worse than the Hutts when it comes to taking their cut.”

“I will do that. Thank you.” Astral is truly touched by his magnanimous gesture.

The prince favors her with an indulgent smile. “One day—and that day may never come—I will call upon you to do a favor for me. To pay it forward, so to speak. Like my friend on Coruscant will do now for you. But until that day, accept this introduction as a gift of gratitude. You have taken very good care of things that I prize very highly.”

She nods. “Thank you, Prince.”

“No, my dear. Thank you.” He resumes walking now, escorting her back to the waiting shuttle. “Tell me,” he asks offhand, “how is the pilot these days?”

“The pilot?” She’s not following

“The one you rescued on the way to Alderaan.”

“Oh yes, that pilot. He is much better. Much, much better.”

“Good. I am glad to hear that.” The prince favors her with yet another courtly bow as he takes his leave. “Until we meet again, Ms. Sidhu.” Then he gives her the ancient blessing from the days of the Old Republic: “May the Force be with you.”

The throwback farewell is a bit unusual, but Astral responds in kind to be polite: “And also with you.” The phrase is more a reflection of the prince’s advanced age, Astral decides, than it is a political statement. For the man does not at all strike her as a Rebel sympathizer.

The shuttle next takes Astral to Coruscant. She arrives back to the enormous landing platform adjacent to the Imperial Palace complex. This is where she watched the Emperor fry Lord Vader months ago. But today, thankfully there is no violent melodrama. Vanee meets her with an assistant. Astral is then whisked off in a heavily armored Palace speeder straightaway.

Vanee takes her to a stately pre-Clone Wars era apartment building on the Upper Level in the ultra-exclusive Senatorial District residential area. This is prime real estate on the galaxy’s most expensive city world. As the speeder whizzes through the elegant neighborhood to swoop down on a private landing pad, Astral gets more and more worried. She’ll never be able to afford this.

“Home, sweet home,” Vanee announces happily as they climb out. “Come see.” The old guy is almost childlike in his anticipation.

He conducts Astral into an expansive and sunny apartment he calls a ‘classic six.’ It’s fully furnished in the feminine style of the bedroom she borrowed at the castle. Ready to move in with everything from sheets to pots and pans. Plus, it comes complete with a brand-new speeder in flashy red. Astral probably can’t afford that either.

“What do you think?” he asks as they both admire the panoramic views from the living room.

“It’s beautiful,” Astral begins, “but so nice. Too nice, I’m afraid.”

“Nonsense. It is yours.”

Feeling intimidated, Astral asks weakly, “How long is the lease again?” Maybe she can use the lease period to save up for someplace less grand.

Vanee corrects her. She has misunderstood. “It is yours, Astral. You own it outright. The taxes and maintenance fees are paid up through the next five years.”

Five years? Wait—what?? “Are you serious?” she gapes.

“Of course. You served the Sith, and for that you are rewarded.”

“I see. Then, thank you.” Astral blinks and grins a little incredulously at her good fortune, for she’s happy at this unexpected boon. This takes a lot of pressure off her. “Thank you!” She throws her arms around Vanee.

He chuckles happily at her reaction as he endures her bear hug. “Don’t thank me. You can thank Lord Vader when he is next at the Palace,” Vanee tells her with a wink.

Instantly, Astral’s enthusiasm dims. She starts wondering if she’s just become Lord Vader’s kept woman. She looks down as she feels her cheeks flush hot and red at the thought. “Oh. I see . . . “

“There is one catch—“

“Yes?” she gulps.

“You must promise not be a stranger. Dr. Levy and I agree that we must meet up for dinner once a month for one of your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We can pass on the freezer burned ice cream for dessert, though.” Vanee shudders at the memory. “I never wish to partake of that again.”

“Of course,” Astral agrees, knowing full well it will be Vanee’s way of checking up on her. Whether it’s motivated by personal regard or by his professional duty to Lord Vader, Vanee seems very concerned for her welfare.

Next, Vanee hands her a comlink to reach him, a new datapad, and a credit card with an eye-popping amount. There is an account with more credits linked to the card, Vanee reveals.

“It’s too much.” It’s more than Astral made in a year back on Alderaan.

“Nonsense. Coruscant is very expensive. Think of it as startup capital,” he suggests. “Astral,” Vanee steps forward to speak softly, “the Master wishes to show his appreciation.”

His words sound rather final. And now, Astral thinks she may have misunderstood her new living arrangements. They might be more in the nature of a dismissal rather than carry an expectation of an ongoing relationship. And for that, Astral feels inexplicably hurt. She had been the one to refuse Lord Vader after all. It’s ridiculous to feel rejected. But she does all the same.

“This is goodbye and keep quiet?” she ventures under her breath.

“This is ‘thank you,’” Vanee replies firmly, giving her a concerned look. “Astral, we know you will be discreet. The Master trusts you.”

“Of course.” Looking up, she promises, “I will not betray him.” She’s no Padme.

“Very good,” Vanee approves. Then he divulges, “There’s a blaster in the drawer to the bedside table along with an extra energy cartridge.”

“A gun?” she frowns. “I don’t need a gun.”

“It’s merely a precaution. The Master insisted.”

After another round of hugs and well wishes, Vanee and his assistant take their leave to allow Astral to settle into her new home. Her first order of business is to investigate the datafile the prince gave her. Astral plugs it into her new datapad. Who is this person the grateful prince has referred her to? Astral discovers the contact information for the chairman of the fine art division of the oldest and largest auction house in the galaxy. It’s located on Coruscant, naturally. Just getting in to see this man will be an opportunity. Astral has contacts on Coruscant, but none at this high a level. If anyone can help her locate a good job, he can. Encouraged, she starts to work on her resume. She wants to have it ready so she can send it to him immediately after they make contact.

An hour later, she has a first draft. Time for a break. Astral wanders into her new living room, flops on her new couch, and turns on the holonet. It opens to the official state newsfeed channel, like always. The announcer is reporting that the Empire is hard at work chasing down the Rebels to bring them to justice for the murder of the citizens of Alderaan and the personnel on the doomed research space station. The report shows a montage of images of military warships that currently scour the galaxy searching for the traitor terrorists. Today the Emperor has officially tasked Lord Vader with crushing the insignificant Rebellion, the voiceover announces. Darth Vader now has complete command of the Imperial military forces for the purpose of hunting down Rebels. The channel now shows a recording from yesterday of Lord Vader arriving to inspect the troops on some star destroyer. A few seconds later, the segment is over and the newsfeed moves on to a different topic.

But not Astral. She rewinds to watch the snippet of footage of Lord Vader again. He’s dragging his left leg a little. No one will probably notice, but she does. It means he’s tired.

Alone now at last, sitting in the apartment he bought her, Astral can’t stop thinking of Lord Vader. Just how badly did she hurt his feelings? He took her refusal easily enough, but she wonders. So much of that man is hidden beneath the surface, she has learned. Beneath the helmet, of course. But also beneath the violence and the deceitful politics he publicly espouses. Also beneath the secret past he pretends doesn’t exist but that he can never seem to put behind him. The man called her his dead wife’s name in bed, and far from being insulted, Astral was saddened for him. That moment and so many others like it have confirmed to Astral what she has known all along: that Lord Vader is a far better man than the galaxy expects, even if all the bad things told about him are mostly true. It’s complicated. Astral keeps coming back to that word because it’s the only way she can think to describe him.

Because for such a towering figure known for harshness, he can be surprisingly gentle and sensitive. And far from insisting on Imperial political orthodoxy, in person he is usually a skeptic and often a cynic. He is no unthinking, unfeeling brute, for he has a reason for everything he does. Quite simply, he is a man often at odds with himself. Part of Astral loves his contradictions. Maybe if they had more time together, she would have come to understand him better. But now, she will probably never know the whole story behind Darth Vader--how he came to go from Jedi to Sith and from Republic to Empire. All things considered, that might be a good thing. She knows enough of his secrets as it is. But still . . . she wonders.

Astral rewinds again to re-watch the footage. Looking at his familiar figure from this new distance makes her sad. She hates that they parted angry. Everything went wrong that night they spent together. From the rushed sex, to the uncomfortable pillow talk afterwards, to the assassination attempt, it was a mess. She felt scared and pressured, he felt embarrassed and stressed. Astral’s not ready to change her mind, but she wishes she would have handled it differently. I’m sorry, she thinks as she watches the footage again. The old school benediction from the gallant alien prince comes to mind now. Astral murmurs it aloud as half-apology, half-blessing: may the Force be with you, Darth Vader.

She’s seasoned enough to know that people come in and out of your life at different times and for different reasons. Some of it is situational—maybe you share the same workplace or the same gym. And some of it is based on shared experiences—maybe you are both struggling with your master’s thesis or you have bonded over caring for a dying parent. But whatever the reason, you help each other deal with it. And then, once the situation changes or the experience resolves itself, you move forward. Often that means leaving people behind too.

And that’s how Astral is choosing to understand her too brief, too intense fling with Lord Vader. It was a connection born of circumstances more than true commonalities, for she and the Sith are two very different people. Eventually, those differences would prohibit them from having a future together. She’s an independent woman who could never be happy rusticating long term on Mustafar. And she can’t take the danger that stalks Lord Vader nor the violence he indulges in. It’s better this way, Astral tells herself as she rewinds to watch the footage again.

END PART ONE

More to come


	13. chapter 13  story notes to part one

Hello and thanks for reading. I write stories in large chunks. There is more to come, but here are some thoughts so far.

This past summer, we were having movie night. It was Rogue One, which in my mind is best once you fast forward through the slow beginning. We start the movie at Vader’s castle and skip through the preamble. What can I say? I’m a get down to business girl, so show me the action. Now, I have written a Vader castle as far back as the very problematic _Fulcrum_ (written post TFA, but pre-Rogue One). But once I saw the canon version of Fortress Vader on screen, it surpassed my expectations. A lava waterfall! It’s like a Four Seasons resort on a space volcano!

Anyhow, that night the boys have a friend sleeping over so the tv is cranked up loud above the first and second grade boy giggles. But enter Mommy who orders silence. This is the only part of the movie I want to see: Lord Vader naked and suspended vaguely Christ-like in his bacta bathtub surrounded by guards. Up comes Vanee to announce a guest. Then, the next thing we see is Lord Vader striding forth through a haze of smoke looking appropriately scary. The contrast is everything in that moment. It’s hugely revealing. Folks, a lot of Lord Vader was an act. My housekeeper looks up to watch that moment too. She remarks offhand something to the effect of “the only thing that’s missing is the shadow of a woman shown slipping away. She made sure he got dressed and was okay and then she lets him do his thing.”

Boom! Story idea! But I let it ruminate a bit. I was writing _Taking the Veil_ at the time. Plus, I have long shied away from writing Vader. He appears in _A New Hope_ and I got his bitterness, but it was still a feeble attempt. He appears in the epilogue to _Red_ and there’s a bit of sullen regret, but not much else. He’s long been my favorite character, and I didn’t want to write him unless I got him right. Vader practically haunts my many Reylo tales and he’s in visions of the future in _Fifth Wife_ as Plagueis’ Sith ‘son.’ But it’s all in passing, never as a fully developed character. So how do I write him? Seriously, the guy is Shakespearean in his dramatic pathos. Could I write that?? Well, I’m trying.

Who is Darth Vader twenty years in? What has he learned? How does he feel about his life choices? In hindsight, how does he view the Jedi and the Republic? What’s his version of the break with Padme? What is his relationship to Darth Sidious? What does it mean for the Chosen One to have flipped Sith? Most importantly, how do we get from ANH to ROTJ? And what is the meaning of Vader’s mortal sacrifice for his son _from Vader’s perspective_? I hope I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew, but I want to tackle all of that and more.

This story is going to follow the events of ESB and ROTJ. I’m a slave to canon, so the ROTJ throne room will end the way it does in the movie. But you’re going to see it and so much more from Vader’s perspective. It’s the behind the scenes story of how we get to Vader chucking his boss down the reactor shaft. In my mind, he is primed for that moment by all the experiences leading up to it. And Astral is a part of that. Darth Vader rediscovering who he is and reconsidering what he wants includes Astral’s influence. So, more to come from her. But you knew that, right?

So why is this of interest to anyone if you can just watch the movies? Because perspective is everything. My Darth Vader is a man who think’s he’s a failure. He’s looking for a way out. For a purpose. For a way to recapture his old self and to break free of his Master. Enter Astral Sidhu, enter Luke Skywalker and . . . er . . . _others_. It’s about to get spicy in a galaxy far, far away. (Spoiler alert—this fic is intended to be a longer, better version of my story _A New Hope_).

Think of this story as the subtext you don’t know to the story you already love. In that respect, this fic will be akin to my fic _DARKER_. That story takes the Darth Maglus—Eleena toxic love story from the SW Legends and turns it on its head. My version of Malgus and Eleena is very different from the usual telling and there’s a reason why—it’s all explained in the fic. For like Vader, Malgus has a lot of complicated posturing going on. And that works because deceit is very Sith.

Every single one of my Darths is hiding a secret. Some physically wear masks. Vitiate even literally lives two lives as two different people. But often, the secret is very personal. And that’s the rub with these guys—they are never all they seem. Malgus is ostensibly a random Force user, making him an outsider in the clannish, insular Sith Empire. But he’s really hiding his illegitimacy (and even more he’s not even aware of until the story ends). Plagueis hides in the open as a major public figure, the head of the Banking Clan, even as he subverts the Republic and bribes the Senate. Vitiate hides his own humble beginnings—the man isn’t even a proper Sith Lord—and he’s terribly insecure for it. Kylo (Darth) Ren hides his Rebellion/Resistance heritage and his Jedi upbringing as he tries so hard—maybe too hard—to be the bad guy. You get the point. Why hide the truth? It’s as often motivated by insecurity and pain as it is by Dark manipulations. My Sith Lords are all very, very human.

So take a high stakes context, a Brutalist style castle, and a brooding Sith Lord with a tragic past and you’ve got gothic melodrama. And let’s face it, we’re all here for the conflict. Yeah, emo Kylo Ren is awesome but the original conflicted Dark heartthrob Lord Vader wins hands down. I feel like at this point, I owe Vader a good story.

So Anakin and Padme . . . I think this is very complicated. He loves her and hates her. To think that Vader spent his days pining for her in deep remorse is only one aspect of his grief. Because as anyone who’s been in a bad breakup will tell you, some of what you are grieving is who you thought the other person was . . . but wasn’t. But will readers accept that? I wondered. One of the reasons I can’t write more Reylo (aside from the big reason that _Ghosts of the Past/Chosen One_ and _Son of Darkness_ contain all I have to say of merit on the subject) is that the cabal of Reylo readers includes some very narrow minded types who are very insistent on how they want characters to think and feel and act. So with that in mind, I worried what it might mean for Vader to move on from Padme. Like—am I going to get pitchforked for this or what? Are the ‘Anidala 4evah!’ types going to howl? Well, if you’ve read anything I have written, you know I don’t write to please readers. This story is no exception.

What if Vader’s view of the marriage isn’t so rosy? Is that heresy? What if he’s still a bit angry at his dead wife? Could he move on with another woman? If so, how would that happen and what would she be like? Does giving Vader a new love cheapen Padme’s death? Does it lessen the tragic romance? I hope it’s not coming off like that in my fic. Padme matters and her death matters (especially the underlying conflicts that precipitated it) twenty years later. But people move on in real life. I want Vader to move on too. He doesn’t go looking for the opportunity, but it finds him.

‘Girl meets Sith’ is a running trope in my stories. Sidious meets his underworld girl dancing at a strip club. Plagueis meets his Jedi wife in a Temple. Malgus meets Eleena when her slavemaster tries to poison him. Vitiate meets his love when she brazenly wrangles her way into his throne room to bargain for her condemned husband’s life. The not yet Darth Ren meets Rey on a trip to see the Jakku battlefield in _Ghosts_. The situations are always a bit different, but the story is the same. You cross paths with one of these dreamy princes of Darkness and you are never the same. You get drawn into their life and their secrets and there’s no way out.

Our heroine is many things Padme isn’t. She’s an ordinary person, not a public figure. She has no particular cause or agenda. Astral’s the Own Lars type who wouldn’t have gotten involved. Not because she doesn’t care, but because she has other priorities. She’s not a Mary Sue with the Force or a gun, nor is she a ravishing young beauty. But she’s a woman of substance.

I wanted Astral to be age appropriate for Vader. If my math is right, Vader here is mid-forties. Hardly old, but not young. Maturity matters for this sort of match. Like Vitiate’s love, Astral is a middle-aged femme fatale. But unlike Lady Struct, she’s not a wife and mother. Astral is a woman I seem to know far too many of in real life—she’s educated, successful and attractive, but also childless and alone. Maybe this is the inevitable result of modern life when girl power seems to push career as the only measure of success and independence as the best route to happiness. I read a NYT article yesterday about being ‘self-coupled’ which seemed like yet another cultural zeitgeist barometer I wish didn’t exist. 

The fact that this is more than a demographic phenomenon and a Thing seems alarming. Not because everyone needs to have a traditional relationship to be happy, but because these are women (and the article spoke only of female examples) who seemed discouraged and disappointed, but who are gamely trying to make the best of the situation. They seem to be owning their predicament as an identity now, which has its own downsides, I’m sure. Anyhow, Astral belongs to this sisterhood. In my mind, that makes the loss of Alderaan more manageable. No grieving widow or mother would be receptive to romantic overtures weeks after her family was slaughtered. But that doesn’t mean Astral isn't very traumatized in her own way. She’s vulnerable.

So . . . Vader sex. I debated this one, wondering if this story would be better without it. But I went for it in all its awkwardness. Mostly because I wanted poor robotic Vader to have a bodily connection with Astral, not just a platonic love. He is more machine than man, and Astral sees this. So I wanted them to share a physical connection that has been missing in his life for decades.

I don’t write explicit sex. It’s a turn off for me and it seemed especially inappropriate in this fic. Some things are best left to the imagination. Hey—read what you like, but go find your SW porn elsewhere. My stories are adult for their themes and plots, not for their gratuitous sex and violence. If you get disturbed by what I write (and I have my share of unhappy readers), it will be for the substance of my story, not for my descriptions.

Like everything I write, this story is only superficially about Star Wars. It mostly about me. Most recently, about this horrible year our family has been having. Daddy Blue was in an accident and broke his leg in many places. Three surgeries and six months in an external steel orthopedic superstructure frame later, he was sort of, kind of healed. A year out, he’s still not back to normal. But he’s working towards better health. It was a catastrophic injury at a very bad time and that made it all the harder to deal with. Unlike Vader, he was a very good patient. But the pain and the insomnia were awful and there were bad days. I wasn’t the best caregiver. Cleaning eleven bloody pins in his leg was not my favorite task. At times, I was stressed and exhausted and overwhelmed. So one day when the kids came home and Daddy was napping downstairs in the recliner he lived in for months with his steel braced leg propped up on pillows and a sleep apnea mask on, my oldest says “Look, Daddy’s Darth Vader. He’s more machine than man.” I pretty much lost it. But that moment stuck with me and it’s a theme of this story.

Though the injury could not be ignored, we tried to put a good face on it. I was the behind the scenes helper getting him to and from meetings and dinners to get him set up. Then I would disappear into the background while he did his thing. A ton of effort went in to downplaying the situation and making things appear quasi normal. They weren’t normal. That’s all in this story—making the boss look like the boss even if he’s near falling down with pain from the effort.

Other bits and pieces of life appear as well. From the comment my cancer surgeon brother blurted out last summer as he’s day drinking while we watch the kids play: “I hate my job. I’m going to cut a twelve-year-old in half tomorrow. That’s what I do—I mutilate people to try and help them.” Also, how pain makes you depressed and irritable. How you long for normal. Even bad normal was better than this. How people stare. They can’t help it but it can ruin your day to be reminded of what a freak you seem to be. Disappointments are here too. I sat four hours in a parked car in a parking garage waiting for a board meeting to conclude. I get the text: ‘come get me’ and I know it’s bad news. “Number two,” he broods. “I’m number two.” He has all the ideas and the insight, but they went with the older guy. And now, that guy will use all those ideas and insight. In real life, some days it sucks to be the Apprentice, too.

Yes, way too much of my writing is from real life. The whole first chapter of _Taking the Veil_ is from real life only the bad news delivered at the end thankfully wasn’t a death sentence. There’s a party scene in _Versions of You_ where some guy hits on Rey and she looks behind her, thinking he’s talking to another girl. Happened to me standing at the grocery takeout counter in all my fat, dumpy, no makeup, mom clothes glory. Me: wait what? Is he talking to me? He can’t be talking to me. But he was. It’s the long blonde hair. Guys go nuts for long blonde hair. I cut a few inches last spring and my husband was pissed for a month. “I break my leg and you go cut your hair?” It was a lot of misplaced frustration, which figures in this fic too for Vader‘s lines, although the blonde hair ended up the striking physical characteristic of the heroine from _Taking the Veil_.

Anyhow, enough about me. I guess I am a Star Wars contrarian. I like to turn the galaxy far, far away upside down and inside out. I used to say that I wrote the Dark Side. But I think it’s more accurate to say that I often write from a neutral perspective that strips the pro-Republic, pro-Jedi bias away. This upsets people sometimes. Star Wars is a morality tale full of cheesy, preachy feel-good platitudes. (Here’s a fun drinking game: take a sip every time someone says “hope” in TLJ.). So when you start arguing for the Empire or for the Sith point of view, people get uncomfortable. And when you write Dark characters doing terrible things who have good qualities, you can get some backlash. Sometimes my bad guys do very bad things and get away with it (the end of _Fulcrum_). But, I’m here for it. Look, this is Star Wars for adults. For people mature enough to know that good guys have flaws and bad guys can have merit. No call-outs or cancels here. The world is complicated, people have varied and sometimes conflicting motivations, and life isn’t fair. 

Part 2 will have lots of conflict. Vader knows the pilot’s name and the race is on to find him. He won’t be the only one looking. All sorts of trouble is going to fall out of the woodwork. Vader is going figure a few things out about his twins. Astral will find herself caught up in the intrigue. I’ll probably culminate Part Two when Luke says “ok, Boomer” to dear old Dad and loses a hand. You’re going to see Bespin through the eyes of Vader, not Luke. Because perspective matters and it’s sort of my schtick in Star Wars. Keep reading and see familiar events and characters differently through me. I can’t promise it will be good, but it will be interesting.

Thanks for reading.


	14. chapter 14

He’s doing it again. He’s knows he needs to stop. He knows that there are no answers here, only questions. But it is a compulsion now, born of habit and obsession. Every night, Vader does this. He sits in his small hyperbaric medical pod on his star destroyer and pours over the Intel file Captain Groat has provided on the life of Luke Skywalker.

In the pictures, the resemblance isn’t strong, but it’s there if you know where to look. The longish, tousled hair is definitely from him. It’s light brown, verging on dark blonde in the right light. Well, really, all of his son’s warm coloring comes from him. The skin, the hair, even the light-colored eyes are from Anakin Skywalker. And while the kid gets his short stature from his mother, his frame is leanly muscled like Vader remembers from his younger days. His own athletic build had come from years of Jedi Guardian training. Not this boy’s physique. Luke Skywalker’s muscles come from seven-day-a-week farm work sweating beneath Tatooine’s twin suns.

As far as Vader can tell, if there is one defining feature of his kid’s life, it is hard work. When Vader zooms in on the Intel pictures, you can see the boy’s calloused hands and broken nails. Luke didn’t grow up a slave, but it was far from a pampered upbringing. The school records too evidence the boy’s hard life. More than one teacher notes that young Skywalker’s grades do not reflect his true ability. When the boy applies himself, he excels. But day to day, he simply doesn’t have time to study or to do his homework. When a guidance counselor raised the issue with his guardian, Owen Lars had brushed off the concern. The counselor recorded the man’s response: “Luke’s a farmer. That’s all he’ll ever be. He doesn’t need homework for that. I will never let him go to the Academy.” 

Could that have been Lars’ way of avoiding the issue? Was the strategy to protect the boy by burying him on the farm? Because that was never going to work long-term. For try as try he might, the son of the Chosen One was never going to remain anonymous forever. That’s not how the Force works. Destiny is unavoidable and to fight against it is to toil in vain. This unsuspecting boy was born for greatness and, unfortunately, he now appears to be on a collision course with his own father. Vader knows that if he doesn’t intervene soon, things could get very ugly. The longer his kid stays with the Rebels, the trickier it will be to extract him.

But besides the Force and his appearance, how much of the rest of the kid is like Vader’s old self? There is no mention of arrogance or a temper in any of the school records. The boy is described as good natured but with a tendency to whine, appropriately respectful of authority, mostly intimidated by girls, and good with mechanics. At least that last part sounds familiar, Vader decides. Young Skywalker is a good bush pilot, one of his young friends attests. Otherwise, the kid appears wholly unremarkable. In fact, he’s truly forgettable at first glance. There’s no obvious clue other than his surname to reveal this boy’s importance.

Scrolling once again through the pictures of the burned-out farm and the torched bodies of Owen and Beru Lars, Vader wishes he had made that Corporal he choked on Mustafar suffer more. Because but for the Force contriving to keep his son away at the critical moment, Luke too would have been killed. And besides, those humble, hardworking people had given his no-blood-relation son a home at great peril to themselves. In the end, they died for it needlessly.

So many questions are now left unanswered with those deaths. Does Luke Skywalker even know who his father is? Or who his father was, for that matter? What does he know about his mother? And what was Obi-Wan’s role in all of this? How much did Kenobi train the boy? Vader thinks it may be very little since there is no mention of any special abilities in the Intel report. But is that an elaborate act for public consumption? Or is the boy truly green? Vader recalls the enormous Force imprint of the Death Star pilot he chased down the trench. All that raw power was something to behold. 

But why would Obi-Wan let Luke get to adulthood without basic training? That’s not the Jedi way, for certain. The Order began indoctrinating its dogma very young to rear children to discipline and control. Lest any youngling learn to love and discover the rich beauty of attachment. And lest any wayward Padawan learn to think for themselves and begin to question the conventional Jedi wisdom. Recalling how the High Council had reacted with fear upon finding Anakin Skywalker untrained at age ten, Vader can only imagine how the Council might react to his son making it to age twenty without traditional training. Somewhere in exile Master Yoda is pissed. The thought makes Vader smirk with grim pleasure.

But soon, he’s back to staring at the pictures again. Vader is fascinated by his adult son. The revelation that he’s alive and well and a Rebel fugitive has dredged up all manner of strong emotions. The longer Vader broods on the issue, the stronger those emotions become. Here again is the terrible guilt, persistent anger, and inveterate sadness from the loss of Padme. Here is more rage and frustration at Obi-Wan for denying him the chance to raise his own children. Here too is the stomach-churning fear that his kid will suffer the same fate his father did—that Luke will first be a duped Jedi, and then an unhappy Sith. The ‘what ifs’ here just kill him. Vader is plagued by fantasies of what might have been for him and his son. There’s so much that he would do differently now if he only could.

Vader kicks himself for not executing on his plan to leave the Jedi Order. It was an idea that slowly took shape after that fiasco with Ahsoka. Then, it became the logical solution once Padme got pregnant. Once he left the Order, he and Padme could live as a normal married couple and raise their children. There would be no more sneaking around or fear of discovery. They had talked about it a few times, but never reached a final decision. That was mostly because they were on opposite sides of the galaxy. But it was also because, for all his malcontent, Vader had still felt very invested in the Order and in the war at that point. Even with Padme’s advancing pregnancy, he hadn’t wanted to rush his exit. Then he found himself unexpectedly appointed to the High Council at the Chancellor’s request. Suddenly, quitting the Order seemed like it was a betrayal of his duty to the Republic and to its leadership. Plus by then, the dreams of Padme’s death had started. He had much bigger problems than just breaking the Jedi Code.

The solution presented itself in a conversation with Sheev at the opera about the Sith Master Darth Plagueis. Not long afterwards, he found himself the newly annointed Sith Lord Darth Vader. It had all happened so fast . . . and with the best of intentions. Vader hopes someday he can convince Luke of that truth. Vader knows he’s no innocent victim, but neither is he the villain. He was the hero caught up in unreconcilable conflicts, trying to make his way forward. For himself, for his family, for the Republic, and for the Force. He knew at the time he didn’t have great options, but he still had to choose. Sadly, none of it worked out.

But that is the past. The future is the issue now. Vader has to find his boy so he can keep him safe. He vows to do this at all cost. He owes it to Padme’s memory to do something good for their son.

But once he finds Luke Skywalker, then what? What do you say in a situation like this? The boy probably hates him. He will fear him. He may even try to kill him. Those are all the inclinations that will make the boy ripe for Sheev to manipulate. And who knows what the kid has been told about his past? Luke may want to believe whatever lies Kenobi and Lars told him rather than the truth. One thing is for certain, there will be conflict. And when it comes to conflict between a Jedi acolyte and a Sith Lord, that usually means swords. The thought is as depressing as it is terrifying. Just like the knowledge that Vader himself nearly killed his own son in that Death Star trench. 

Now more than ever, Vader hates the scary monster he has become. He’s the masked man in the robot suit. Will his Jedi Rebel son be able to look past his father’s Sith trappings and Imperial politics? Will Luke ever be able to see him as more than the Emperor’s ruthless enforcer? As more than the Jedi Killer? So few people can. It’s part of what made Astral Sidhu so special. Astral got it instinctively—somehow, she saw that while his sins are many, his suffering is also great. Vader has paid for his Dark folly many times over in blood, in limbs, in pain, and in private tears of self-recrimination and regret. For twenty years, he has been trapped in a life he doesn’t want but is powerless to change. And yet only now does he truly appreciate the full ramifications. Because for years, Vader mourned the wife he could not save and mostly ignored the twin children lost to obscurity. Unborn at the time, they weren’t real to him. But now that his son has a name and a face and a life, the enormity of what Vader has lost is revealed to him.

Again, he stares hard at the young stranger in the picture. It’s a mix of fear and longing.

More than anything, Vader wants to protect this son he accidentally abandoned. For isn’t that the first role of a parent? To protect, first and foremost. Then, to provide and to teach. Even at this late date, Vader could do all of those things. He needs to. For if Sheev finds young impressionable Luke, there’s no telling what his Master will turn him into. And this fear is the true root of Vader’s obsession with his lost son: he must find Luke in order to save the boy from repeating his own mistakes.

Those mistakes were first in blindly following the path of the Jedi and then in falling for the lies of the Sith. Sheev still doesn’t know the secret of immortality. He overpromised big time and like a desperate fool Vader had taken the bait. Neither the Jedi nor the Sith have all the answers, Vader knows now. Somewhere in an amalgamation of their teachings lies a moderate path forward. A way that embraces emotion and personal ambition and tempers it with reason and altruism. It’s some yet-to-be-formulated creed that acknowledges the role of power and yet gives it a purpose more than the self. The servant leadership approach of the Jedi failed and the despotic endgame of the Sith has real limitations. But Vader sees a wide middle ground between those traditions. There has always been room for reform and compromise. But the two warring factions in the Force were too entrenched in their positions to see it. Too convinced of the righteousness of their own dogma. And too quick to resort to swords to prove themselves right.

If Vader ever finds his son, he’s going to tell Luke to Hell with all that. Fuck it all. Every last damn rule and prohibition. It’s time to let the past die, and that includes the Jedi and the Sith religions. It’s time to clean the slate and move forward. There is no need to fear the Dark Side any more than you need to fear the Light. The Force is the Force, and all aspects of the great mystery matter and have their place. True power comes from wielding both the Light and the Dark, and in the wisdom of knowing when to use which side. Balance is the goal and the key. And for that, his son must unlearn whatever Kenobi has taught him.

But . . . will the kid listen? If so, Vader will teach his boy the bitter truths he has learned the hard way. He will pass on what he has learned, with all of his iconoclasm. And then Luke Skywalker can take up the mantle of the Chosen One and lift the burden from his broken and beleaguered father. Maybe the son will succeed where the father has failed, Vader muses. And maybe one day, Sheev’s reign of terror will end and a new day will dawn. Led by this young, handsome Rebel prince from Tatooine, not the old, disfigured Imperial predecessor version. This boy could be a new hope for everyone. That’s why Vader needs to find him and keep him safe. And then maybe together they can find his missing sister. For who knows? Maybe there is a happily-ever-after for the Skywalkers. Padme should be here, of course, but she won’t be. But maybe there’s still hope for Astral to complete their little family.

And that fantasy scenario prompts Vader to switch to yet another Intel datafile. This one is from the operative who trails Astral on Coruscant. The surveillance is mostly for her protection, of course. But it’s also for his benefit. Because while Vader longs for a relationship with Luke Skywalker, he also longs for a future with Astral Sidhu. For when it comes to the hierarchy of Darth Vader’s current obsessions, she’s a very close second.

For all her fears about starting over, Astral seems to be thriving. She immediately landed a new job at a fancy auction house. She’s now an Assistant for Special Projects, whatever that means. It sounds like one of those nebulous positions that you create just to give someone a job. From what Vader can tell, Astral mostly takes meetings with rich people to talk about art. But she seems to love it.

She loves Coruscant as well. On weekend days, Astral wanders the city for hours on foot. She sightsees. She window shops. She explores. On weekend nights, she likes to attend concerts and recitals. He remembers Astral had said that her mother was a musician. That must explain her love of classical music and opera. 

Other than those outings, Astral is a homebody. She spends her nights watching newsfeeds and drama series on the holonet and surfs on her datapad. It’s the datapad Vanee gave her, so it’s bugged. Vader sees all of its content. Some of it is art, some of it is fashion, some of it is the online Alderaan survivor support network she joined, but most of it is him. Each morning, Astral searches his name to read the morning’s news articles. Clearly, he’s still very much on her mind. It helps him to conclude that Astral didn’t really reject him so much as she rejected the life he offered. And that takes most of the sting out of their separation. He can’t be angry with Astral as a result. Instead, he’s disappointed. Like she is, he suspects.

Astral looks good, he thinks as he flips through surveillance photographs of her striding down the street. He’s never seen Astral wear anything other than those two severe dresses. Now, she wears new severe dresses, but she also wears casual clothes sometimes. After two months, she cuts her hair. Two weeks later, Astral cuts even more off. The new hairstyle is a bit severe in its own way. But the haircut and the new clothes somehow combine to make her look younger. She has a certain grave glamour now. Suddenly, her look is less slightly nerdy, uptight museum scholar and more sleek and chic urbane sophisticate. Honestly, the change is threatening. There’s no sign of any new boyfriend yet, but it’s only a matter of time, Vader fears.

He flips through to linger on his favorite photograph. Astral is pictured ordering caf from a droid at the coffee stand she frequents. Her copper hair glints in the morning sunlight and there is a smile on her face and in her eyes. Astral is so beautiful when she smiles. Vader misses that smile. How he longs to see that kind smile again. But while she routinely asks Vanee about him, Astral has not made any attempt to contact him. That’s very telling. Their brief romance culminated in one night of lackluster passion. Now, it’s over and she’s moving on.

He’s trying to move on himself, but . . . well . . . he’s attached. This is what he does: he falls hard and he falls fast. And now, he’s stuck in unrequited love again. But at least this time, it’s not with a dead woman.

Unfortunately, circumstances have conspired to drive him and Astral apart. And really, what woman wants to live in fear of her lover’s assassins? But her justifiable fear is only half the explanation for her refusal, Vader knows. The truth is he also blew it. He thinks of a thousand different ways he could have handled that last night at the castle. From better bedroom maneuvers to ways he could have reassured Astral about her safety. But it’s too late for that. She’s gone and apparently thriving without him. And maybe that should make him angry, but it doesn’t. Astral still grieves her world and the life she lost, but she’s off to a good start on Coruscant. It makes him glad. He’s jealous of her happiness, but he will not begrudge her success and wellbeing. He just wishes he could match her growing contentment for himself. 

And that brings him back full circle to staring at the datafile on his prodigal son once again. This Luke Skywalker news has really thrown him for a loop. And the more Vader broods on it, the worse it gets. His sense of dread for the situation cannot be overstated. Neither can his guilt. It makes Vader miss Astral as confidante. More than anything, he really needs someone to confide in now. This deadly secret is killing him on the inside.

Where is Astral when he needs her? How the Hell did he let that woman get away? He would give six fleets of star destroyers now just to feel her soft body beneath him again, to bury his face in her fragrant hair. To revel in her willingness to accept him and to open her legs to receive him. For Astral had been such a potent seductress with her dual offers of sex and understanding. She is the comfort he craves, the confessor he desperately needs, and the cheerleader he has long been without.

So . . . should he contact her? No, he decides, what’s the use? She’ll only turn him down again. She lives for art and his vocation is mostly war. Their lives are incompatible even without the risks. Plus, he’s lightyears away from Coruscant. He’s not scheduled to be back there until Empire Day at the earliest. So, aiming to appear diligent for the cameras and his Master, Vader continues to waste time in the Rim. He’s bored and frustrated as he launches probe droids and chases down minor leads on the elusive Rebels. At this rate, Vader grumbles, Luke Skywalker will be an old man before he finds him.

The latest lead turns out to be a dud, like all the rest. After they were routed from the Yavin system, the Rebels dispersed very effectively. If they have regrouped at some rendezvous point somewhere, the Empire can’t seem to find it. Surely, they will establish a new hidden base someplace, if they haven’t already. But there are so many sparsely populated systems and so many uncharted settlements. If the Rebels decide to hide rather than mount another attack, they could persist years undetected.

That could be a good solution, all in all. The Empire can claim victory for preventing further terror attacks. The civil war Vader fears could be averted. The galaxy could resume its pre-Alderaan status quo. But then, Luke Skywalker may never be found. And so, far from wanting the Rebellion to fade away, Vader wants to stoke it and goad it into revealing itself and thereby revealing his boy. He's utterly obsessed with finding his boy.

So when Captain Groat contacts him to request an audience, Vader immediately summons the deep state operative to his flagship. He’s greedy for any new scrap of information about Luke Skywalker. What he has now is limited. Clearly, the locals hadn’t wanted to volunteer information, but they felt compelled to cooperate after what happened to Owen and Beru Lars. Their solution appears to have been to say the bare minimum. But several months have passed now, so Vader recently sent Groat back to Tatooine to throw some credits around. This time, Vader gave strict orders to make sure that the guys asking questions aren’t wearing Imperial uniforms. This latest round of information gathering is under the pretext of finding missing Luke to save him, rather than arrest him like many neighbors had probably feared.

As usual, Vader meets with Captain Groat in private. “What do you have on the pilot?” Vader demands the instant they are alone. He’s been waiting anxiously in anticipation of this interview, so he’s even less concerned with pleasantries than usual.

“Nothing new, my Lord.”

“Nothing on the bounty?”

“No, my Lord. Fett and the others are as empty handed as we are.”

Deeply disappointed, Vader growls, “Then why are you here?” This guy’s wasting his time. And worse, he’s dashing his hopes.

Groat shifts his weight uncomfortably as he begins, “There is another matter . . . something you should know. You may already know . . .”

Impatient, Vader commands, “Spit it out, Captain.”

Again, Groat prevaricates with more needless preamble. “My Lord, you were known to oppose the Death Star . . . “

“Yes,” he interrupts testily. “I’m glad that technological terror is no more. The Emperor knows it, too.”

“Sir,” Groat half-whispers as though he might be overheard even though they are alone. “Sir, he’s building another.”

Well, fuck. This is news. Bad news. But Vader doesn’t let on. He learned long ago to cultivate a sense of mysterious omnipotence. It has fooled more than one nervous officer into disclosing secrets the subordinate wrongly assumes the boss already knows. So Vader now gripes with maximum sarcasm, “The first one was such a success . . . ”

“He’s worried for the Rebellion.”

“That thing is no good against the Rebels beyond blowing up a base or two. You can’t use a Death Star effectively in guerrilla warfare with political insurgents.”

“He plans to.”

“The Rebels already blew up one. What’s to stop them from doing it again?” Vader argues.

Groat doesn’t reply. Instead, he offers up a datafile. “My Lord, I have the complete post mortem on the original weapon here. Have you seen it? It came out when you were still at the castle. It was sabotage,” the Captain says with breathless dramatic effect. “The chief engineer built a fuse in the middle of the Death Star and told the Rebels how to light it. Neither Krennic nor the others on the project were aware of it. But now, the Emperor has found a new scientist who thinks he can solve the problem. My Lord, the Emperor’s throwing resources at the project. And given your opposition to the last one, everyone is under strict orders to keep you in the dark.”

Vader seethes inwardly at this move by Sheev. But it all rings true. During his two month off-the-grid recuperation at Mustafar, starting a new covert Death Star project would be all too easy. It’s just one more reason for Vader to hate his infirmities that take him out of the action far too often. But whatever. He knows now.

“Yes, I am aware,” Vader outright lies. “And I am still officially very much in the dark notwithstanding this conversation.” He accepts the datafile but waves a gloved hand away breezily. “Keep me informed, but it’s not a pressing issue. It took over twenty years to design and build the first one.”

Groat sets him straight. “This new one has a two-year completion date.”

What?? “Two years?” Did he hear that right?

The Captain nods. “The redesign is supposedly very simple. The construction phase begins in two months.”

Two months? Vader pauses, feeling flummoxed. There are so many things wrong with this course of action. For starters, how is Sheev going to explain his latest monstrosity when he has consistently denied ownership of its predecessor? And what possible good can come out of repeating the same mistake twice? Sheev is playing right into the enemy’s hands again, proving the Rebels right. Plus, if the Force wasn’t tempted enough to depose Sheev for last time, surely it will for the second offense? How many star systems must suffer the fate of Alderaan before the Force finally does something about it?

Groat looks nervous as he speaks up. “Sir, I’m hoping that I am speaking to someone who understands when I say that my mother and my sister lived on Alderaan. They were loyal citizens. They did not deserve their fate.”

Vader nods. “Agreed.”

“If the Emperor gets his hands on another one, more loyal citizen noncombatants will die.”

“Agreed.”

“A second Death Star is a mistake. My Lord, no one in the command structure wants this. But everyone is afraid to say so except you.”

“Agreed.” Maybe some would think that a Sith Lord like himself is supposed to have a constant raging hard-on for death and destruction. But that’s like pretending the Jedi only used the Force for defense. The Sith are no more nihilists than the Jedi were peacekeepers. Neither religion wins on coherence or consistency.

“Then, can you stop it?” Captain Groat outright pleads.

Vader doesn’t answer. He simply orders, “Bring me anything else you have on the project.”

“My Lord—“

“We will create some supply problems, Captain.”

“But that will only delay things—“

“For now,” Vader interrupts. “But enough work stoppages, cost overruns, and supply interruptions could doom the weapon. The Emperor could lose focus and move on to another better solution.”

“But my Lord, he’s obsessed . . . or so I hear . . . ”

Yes, Vader completely understands. Passions, compulsions, manias, preoccupations . . . they are all the telltale hallmarks of the Dark Side. His current personal infatuations are Luke Skywalker and Astral Sidhu. His Master’s are apparently immortality and Death Stars. It’s typical of each of them: he’s concerned with people and Sheev’s all about power.

Poor Groat looks as miserable as he does earnest. “My Lord, can’t you stop it?” he whines. “You must stop it.”

“Leave that to me,” Vader answers. Suddenly, he is very glad he didn’t kill Groat along with the others he killed over that failed interrogation on Centares. Because while today’s meeting didn’t get him any closer to finding his son, it has yielded important information nonetheless.

His first strategy will be to slow this second Death Star to a halt. That will buy him time to find the elusive Rebels. Then, if Sheev doesn’t lose interest fast enough, Vader will leak the news of the weapon to the enemy. He’ll bait the Rebels to destroy Death Star II for him. But Groat doesn’t need to know that now. So Vader dismisses the man and returns to the _Executor _bridge to consider this new development.

Truthfully, he feels nagging guilt over Alderaan. For Astral, for Groat’s family, and for all the other innocents who were slaughtered. Darth Vader is a man long accustomed to war. He understands its randomness, its unfairness, its acceptable losses, and its collateral damage. And he’s a Sith, so he’s prepared to do what must be done--even the unsavory bits--to achieve his goals. But even a Sith Lord has limits. Vader is not a moral man in the conventional sense, but that does not mean he has no scruples. All those deaths on Alderaan ultimately had no purpose. In hindsight, it was senseless violence. And that’s more stupid than it is Sith.

For if the Sith are anything, they are purposeful. The Dark Side is not a license for depravity or insanity. It’s no excuse for poor judgement and hubris. At its core, Darkness is the embrace of emotion. All to unite reason with feeling and the Force. This is what the cold Jedi got wrong. Their culture of denial never achieved the detached selflessness they esteemed. Yoda, Obi-Wan, Windu and the rest were as ruled by emotion as anyone else, only they chose to ignore it. Just like they chose to ignore their own partisanship and will to power. 

There is nothing inherently wrong with emotion. Yes, the Dark Side is strongest with negative emotions—fear and hate in particular bring a rush of power. But softer, gentler emotions have their place too. Especially the love born of attachment that the Jedi forbid. To deny the power of love was the Jedi’s greatest mistake. In the end, it was mostly a fallacy anyway. For love had a way of sneaking into the mentor relationships between Masters and Padawans. He himself loved Ahsoka like a little sister. And Obi-Wan had admitted to loving him like a brother. But the Jedi drew the line at harnessing the power of love through the Force.

And that was foolish. If the Force is the mystical energy field that binds the universe together, shouldn’t it thrive on connections between living beings? Even the Jedi recognized Force bonds could occur between Force users who were unusually close. Those bonds would typically augment and bridge both party’s powers. Bringing them dangerously close to the emotion of the Dark Side, according to the dogmatic Jedi Council. And now, who was being ruled by fear? The Dark Side paranoid Jedi were far more fearful than they ever admitted. It’s just one more aspect of their rampant hypocrisy, Vader thinks glumly.

Fear is also the root of this second Death Star folly, Vader recognizes. All who gain power fear to lose it, and Sheev Palpatine is no exception. But Vader can’t outright oppose his Master. So he will settle for impeding him in important ways. If that doesn’t work, then maybe young Luke Skywalker can hop in an X-wing and repeat his daring feat. Yes . . . the idea crystalizes in Vader’s mind. This will begin to make things right, for here is the plan he needs. He will use this new Death Star information to earn his boy’s trust. To convince him that his father is not the monster who Obi-Wan has no doubt portrayed him to be. To show him that Darth Vader wants a just and fair Empire, unlike his tyrant Master. There are two sides to every story. Hopefully, his son will listen to his.

The more he thinks about it, the more Vader warms to the idea. But first, he has to find Luke Skywalker. Where is Luke Skywalker? Six months after Yavin, Vader still has no idea.


	15. chapter 15

They call Coruscant the Eternal City. It’s an apt moniker. Fitting not only for the millennia old cityscape but also for the ambivalent resilience of its populace. Emperor Sheev Palpatine is one of many on a long list of notables to rule this city-world. From the Old Sith Empire invasion eons ago, to the Separatists’ bold plot mere decades prior, many have come seeking to claim this ancient seat of power. Through a thousand generations amid the changing fortunes of the galaxy, a myriad of elected and non-elected leaders has come and gone. But Coruscant remains the same. The Jedi Temple becomes the Imperial Palace. The old Republic Senate becomes the Imperial Senate. And Coruscant’s citizens simply shrug and go about their business. As arrogant, fast-talking, hyper-focused, self-interested, and status obsessed as always. So while things change, nothing changes. Even if it did, the Coruscanti wouldn’t care. And that’s why Coruscant is the Eternal City.

Into this mix of strivers drops the refugee Astral Sidhu. She’s hardly a hayseed. Alderaan was a very respectable Core planet with its share of major urban centers. But still . . . it was nothing like the capital of the galaxy, the famed bright center of the universe, Coruscant.

This entire planet is one great big sprawling metropolis. Everywhere there are towers for business and residence so tall that they nearly block out the sun on the Lower Levels. Thankfully, on the uppermost reaches of the city where Astral lives and works, the sun shines gloriously clear and cool. And that’s basically how the pecking order works: everything on the Upper Levels has the maximum prestige and expense. As you work your way down, that all declines. Astral quickly learns that you are either a posh Upper Level aristocrat with an enviable education and income, or the workaday bourgeoisie making rent in the Mid-Levels but with ambitions for more, or one of the billions of working poor who subsist on the Lower Levels, one rung above the disreputable types who typify the seedy Underworld.

With so many people, Coruscant tends to be dirty. Below the uppermost levels, the air is smoggy from the exhaust of millions of transports filtering down. Trash overflows receptacles to collect in the gutters. It can fly freely in the space lanes, meaning that the locals know to keep their speeder cockpit closed or risk getting some gross nastiness splattered on their head. But for all the grime, the sheer energy of Coruscant is amazing. This city-world never sleeps. This is a ‘work hard, play hard’ kind of place fueled by ambition, credits, caf, and probably many other dubious stimulants Astral cannot name.

By day, the airspace is clogged with legendarily bad traffic. The public transports overspill with riders and the wide boulevard walking spaces clog with bodies. By night, the city is ablaze with bright lights. The nightlife in the boisterous entertainment district begins at sundown and continues until the wee hours. Supposedly, the party is round the clock down in the notorious Underworld, but Astral will take that on faith. She has no plans to venture down there to confirm for herself. But in the Upper Level where she spends her days, Astral has her pick of the highest caliber of cultural experiences. From the opera, to the ballet, to concerts, to theater, you can take in any number of performances. And afterwards, there are restaurants open late and bars and coffee shops where people congregate.

The people watching is amazing. You can walk down a block and see a dozen species and hear a dozen languages. Then, walk another block and see yet another dozen—different—species and hear a dozen more languages. The plurality of residents are humans, and humans and humanoids are by far the dominant race of inhabitants, but Coruscant lives up to its reputation as the melting pot of the galaxy. This is where the best and brightest from all systems come to make their mark. For if you can make it on Coruscant, you can make it anywhere. For Astral, a woman from an almost entirely human home planet, this is a brand-new experience.

It’s just so different from politely formal Alderaan. Here, people are unabashedly aggressive. Hesitate when the elevator doors open and they will push you out of the way to jump onboard themselves. And when it comes to boarding the free public transports, it’s everyone for themselves. Astral comes to understand quickly what a great boon it is to have her own speeder. Not only does it make transit more efficient, but it allows her to bypass the mob of rushing citizens who will cheerfully trample you if you’re not careful and then yell at you if you object. Astral soon learns that the Coruscanti are free with their colorful curses. She gets called a string of nasty words when one particular commute narrowly avoids becoming a road rage incident. Not surprisingly, Astral flies her speeder too slowly and too cautiously for the natives’ taste.

But, reckless flying aside, Astral gamely tries to fit into her newly adopted home world. And thankfully, with the financial assistance of Lord Vader and the sponsorship of Prince Venamis, things are off to a great start. The man at the auction house who the prince refers her to turns out to be a reptilian Falleen. He is gentlemanly and smooth. It’s the furthest thing from the crime syndicate thugs his species is often associated with. Astral likes him instantly and he likes her. Twenty minutes into their initial meeting, he hires her as his Assistant for Special Projects. And thus begins her new career.

This job is very different from museum work. The auction house makes money when artwork changes hands, so a lot of the focus is on putting together big sales to induce both buyers and sellers. That, in turn, creates a more transparent and fluid marketplace which makes purchasers feel comfortable that they are not overpaying and gives sellers reassurance that they will receive fair market value. Sales beget sales, her boss tells her succinctly.

Astral quickly learns the marketing strategies behind auctions. Rare works are solicited for auction in an effort to garner attention. Related works, sometimes from more than one owner, are often grouped together in a single lot to maximize the pricing. And works with exceptional quality or noteworthy provenance always command attention. That all means coaxing patrons to part with marquee pieces. Meeting with collectors and museum representatives now becomes a big part of Astral’s job. She is a bit intimidated at first, but her boss assures her that if she can convince stingy and reclusive Prince Venamis to loan out a full exhibit, she can convince anyone of anything.

Her job is basically to cultivate relationships. She must get to know the most elite collectors and their goals. Some are investors who dabble in art as speculation. Others are true enthusiasts who have sentimental attachment to their artwork. All are ridiculously wealthy and entitled, living spectacular lives amid the galaxy’s one percent. As it turns out, most have at least a pied-a-terre on Coruscant so Astral’s new job has surprisingly little travel. She did her share of schmoozing with important museum benefactors back on Alderaan, so Astral comes to view her new gig as an extension of those skills.

Thankfully, her new colleagues are all very welcoming. They are a great resource for information on any number of topics. Most feel sorry for her predicament, and are anxious to help her to adapt. It means that by the end of the first month, Astral has recommendations for everything from a dry cleaner, to a plumber, to where to eat brunch on Sunday morning. As she settles in, Astral slowly begins building a new network of familiar faces. That helps to alleviate her loneliness from so many nights and weekends spent on her own. It’s strange to feel lonely amid a world so crowded. But even among a sea of people, Astral learns, you can feel very isolated.

Vanee checks in on her weekly. By the time a month goes by, he summons her to Lord Vader’s palace for the promised peanut butter and jelly dinner. That turns out to be an experience. Entering the Imperial palace complex is no small undertaking. The security is intimidating. The speeder Astral arrives in is scanned and then whisked away. Then she herself is scanned and frisked by a stormtrooper. State your business, the guards order. I’m here to see Vanee, Lord Vader’s steward, she replies. Another series of checkpoints later, finally she is escorted inside.

Darth Vader’s Coruscant palace is very grand and very cold in ambiance. The floors and walls are inlaid stone in angular patterns of grey, white, and black. It’s not ugly so much as it is stark and repetitive. The whole design scheme strikes Astral’s trained eye as rather unimaginative. It’s as if no one cared in particular what it looks like. They just wanted to meet expectations that the place be big and impressive. The exceedingly high ceilings, the outsize hallways, and the carpetless floors all combine to give the impression of a very institutional space. And that is fitting because inside there are people everywhere. The giant entryway resembles a busy train station more than it does a home, she thinks.

It’s mostly uniformed personnel milling about. And since Astral knows nothing about the military, she stares blankly at the rank insignias of the men—and they are predominantly men—who walk past. She garners her share of looks too. She’s come from work and today she met with an important patron, so she’s wearing one of her new formal day gowns. The dress is very restrained in every way but for the bright marigold color. And that makes her especially conspicuous. Astral feels very frivolous and girly amid all these men of war. But she holds her head high and marches with her trooper escort through it all.

She is presented to Vanee at his office deep inside the building. He looks up and his eyes light up. “Astral!” That begins a two-hour conversation as they catch up on each other’s lives. Astral tells him about her new job and her new life. Vanee reports on events at the castle and life behind the scenes of the Sith. How is he? Astral waits a mere two minutes before she asks the question. Vanee answers that Lord Vader continues to improve and is glad to be back at work. She’s relieved and pleased by the positive report, and it shows.

Astral and Vanee repeat their dinner once a month. How is he? Next month she hears that Lord Vader is doing full training workouts now. Dr. Levy is very happy with his rapid progress. Yes, but how is he? Astral asks again. Well, he’s been better, Vanee answers diplomatically. He doesn’t meet her eyes, she notices.

By the third month, the question ‘how is he?’ makes Vanee a bit uncomfortable. The old guy has no poker face. Astral sees right away that something is wrong. How is he? Grumpy, she learns. But the Dark Side can be like that, Vanee assures her, and he’s under a lot of pressure to arrest the Rebels. Tell him I hope it gets better, Astral requests. Vanee promises to deliver the message.

When their fifth peanut butter and jelly dinner date rolls around, the question ‘how is he?’ finally merits a real answer. He’s terrible, concerned Vanee confesses. I haven’t seen him this bad since right before he gave up his resurrection quest. The Master was devastated about that for a long time, the old servant recalls. So disappointed and so down. Very short tempered with a hair trigger for violence. Is there anything I can do? Astral offers to help. Vanee frowns and shakes his head. I think it would be best for you to keep your distance right now, he answers. 

Vanee reconsiders that view by the time their next scheduled peanut butter and jelly dinner approaches. Vanee contacts Astral to move up the evening so that she will be at the palace the night Lord Vader arrives for the annual Empire Day festivities. Will you see him? I fear he really needs a friend, Vanee confides. And how can she refuse after all Lord Vader has done for her? Absolutely, Astral responds with no small amount of trepidation.

It’s a setup and she knows it. Vanee is none too subtle about it either. He is waiting at the security gate for her when she arrives. “Good,” Vanee approves as he looks her up and down, “You look great. Follow me,” he beckons. “Lord Vader arrived early and went straight into a meeting,” Vanee briefs her as they walk into the building. “They should be finishing up soon.”

“Does he know I’m coming?”

“No, but he will now.”

“How?” Astral asks.

“He will sense you in the Force.” Vanee gives her a conspiratorial look. “Let’s get you close so he will be sure to recognize your arrival. Then, I’ll bet his meeting adjourns quickly.”

Astral groans, “Vanee, what have you gotten me into? Are you and I even going to eat dinner together tonight?”

“Not if all goes well,” the old retainer replies honestly. “We’re going to the west terrace. It’s on the fourth floor where he is now. We’ll pretend to take in the view and chat. And then if he just happens to wander out to see you . . . . well, then my work is done,” Vanee declares happily.

“And if he doesn’t?” she worries.

“He will.”

“But what if he won’t?”

“Then you and I will have another sandwich in the kitchen,” Vanee sighs.

“If I get the Vader choke for this, I’m blaming you,” Astral grumbles.

“If anyone gets a Force choke for this, it will be me,” Vanee admits. “Never fear, he won’t hurt you. He’s the one who’s hurting, Astral. And no one can seem to figure out why. His health is better, Lord Sidious is being reasonable, there have been no more Rebel attacks . . . And yet, the Master seems to be falling apart again.”

“Oh, dear,” she sighs, fearing she might be a contributing reason why. This accidentally-on-purpose meeting could backfire spectacularly, she frets.

At her side, Vanee tells it like it is. “It’s bad . . . really bad . . . Astral, that’s why you’re here. I wouldn’t have dragged you into this if I didn’t think he needed help. Maybe you can reach him.”

“No pressure,” she gulps.

“Look, just get him to talk,” Vanee soothes, “but be prepared for a bad mood. Don’t let him chase you away. You know how he is sometimes---”

“Yes, I remember.”

Others surround them now, so perforce their conversation must cease. Astral follows Vanee in silence in and out of a crowded elevator. They exit onto a floor of glass walled conference rooms that looks like it belongs in some law firm office or investment bank. This is where the business of ruling the Empire gets done, she knows. Lord Vader is first and foremost an administrator despite his current military mission. This very business-like environment reflects that reality.

As she and Vanee linger by the central reception area, Astral starts looking around. She has never been in the working section of Lord Vader’s palace before. She’s only been belowstairs to Vanee’s private office and the kitchen. “Nice view,” she remarks as she takes in the panoramic vista of Coruscant at nightfall to the east and the looming Imperial Palace complex already lit for the night to the west. At least if you are stuck in a boring meeting, you can look out the window, she thinks.

“Ah, here he comes,” Vanee titters under his breath as Astral gives the man a quelling look. Again, she wonders just what has she gotten herself into? Honestly, Astral is half tempted to turn on heel and flee. She fears she has awkward humiliation ahead of her.

But her attention is inexorably drawn to the giant masked figure who has marched out of a meeting room far down the hallway. Lord Vader’s purposeful strides force the clutch of uniformed cronies who swarm around him to move at double time to keep up. Astral can’t help but notice that Darth Vader cuts a distinctive figure with his elegant cape billowing behind him. He looks to be off to yet another appointment when he stops abruptly. The angular helmet swings ninety degrees in her direction. Yes, he definitely sees her. They lock eyes a moment, Astral is certain, despite the distance and the obscuring red eye shields of his mask. Then, Lord Vader turns to bark something she can’t hear to his underlings. They disperse immediately, like a flock of birds shooed away by a predator in their midst.

Vanee can’t contain his glee at the evident success of his plot. “This way please.” Vanee immediately half tugs, half yanks her to the left through an exit out onto an expansive stone terrace decorated mostly by guards. “Contrive to look fetching,” he trills as he deposits her there. “Face away so you look alone, but not too available,” he advises sotto voce as Astral groans anew. Then Vanee disappears before Astral can stop him. Feeling rather mortified, Astral waits nervously in her appointed spot. This feels like an ambush intervention combined with an awkward middle school romance. But here goes . . .

Astral hears Lord Vader before she sees him, of course. The cycling wheeze of his loud respirator betrays his approach, as do his heavy footsteps. And maybe she should be playing hard to get, but Astral turns to face him anyway. She watches his progress onto the terrace.

“What are you doing here?” As usual, Lord Vader omits the pleasantries. Behind that mask, his face is completely inscrutable. But his tone is clear. He’s grumpy. It’s just like Vanee warned.

“Would you believe that I got lost?” she offers with a sheepish smile.

“No. Not with Vanee at your side.”

Astral tries again to lighten the mood. “Would you believe that Vanee got lost?” she offers.

“No. He designed this palace.”

“Er . . . right . . .” Yikes. She knew that.

“What are you doing here?” Lord Vader crosses his arms over his chest plate and glares.

But Astral refuses to be cowed by the gruff greeting. Instead, she cocks her head and smiles up at him. “It’s peanut butter and jelly night.”

Apparently, Lord Vader is familiar with the concept because he responds, “That’s the second Wednesday of the month. That’s tomorrow. Why are you here now?”

Astral explains the partial truth, “Vanee asked to move it up. He said he would be busy with Empire Day events tomorrow.”

Lord Vader nods and lets the issue drop. He moves on from complaining about why she’s here to complaining about what she looks like. “You changed your hair.”

Astral raises a hand to smooth her locks. She decided to update her habitual chignon after hearing someone’s disdainful remark that ‘long hair on an aging woman is so Alderaan.’ So, she took a colleague’s recommendation for a hairdresser. After two attempts, the result is a sleek angled bob that barely skims her shoulders. At first, it took some getting used to, but now Astral loves it. It’s youthful and chic, and she knows it. But still, she is suddenly self-conscious. “You don’t like it?” she worries.

“It’s shorter.”

Yep. He hates it. “I wanted a change,” she explains. “New life, new job, new haircut.”

“New clothes too.”

“Yes.” She looks down at her sleek navy jacket and matching culottes worn with chunk heeled grey boots. She has a grey fringed handbag worn crossbody to bounce on her hip as she walks. It’s the casual, functional uniform of an Upper Level lady on the go. Maybe it’s not the most appropriate choice for an audience with the esteemed Lord Vader in his fancy official palace, but Astral had dressed to eat dinner in the kitchen.

“You look very Coruscant.” Darth Vader says it like a vote of no confidence. “Where did your dresses go?”

“Well, there’s no point in looking Alderaan any longer.” No more high-necked bishop sleeved day gowns for her. “And like they say, when in Coruscant . . . “ she alludes to the often quoted idiom about the famous city world. But despite her easy words, Astral is increasingly deflated in the face of his criticism. “I guess I want to fit in . . .”

“You succeeded.” He doesn’t sound happy about it either. But this isn’t negging. This is passive aggressive Lord Vader, Astral realizes. Peevish and petty when he’s in a bad mood.

So ignoring the many onlookers, Astral crosses her arms and stares him down through the mask. “You’re still angry,” she accuses. It starts a low key fight.

“Angry is the wrong word.”

“Then tell me the right one.”

“Disappointed. You took my painting—“

“That wasn’t your painting—“

“And you gave it back. Does this mean you’re planning to return?” he counters coolly.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so,” he bites back. Then he abruptly walks away to the balcony railing.

Astral blinks and swallows hard at the rebuff. This is getting off to a very bad start. But he didn’t turn on heel and leave or throw her out, so this again feels rather passive aggressive. Like he’s glad she’s here but he won’t admit it. So Astral tries to tamp down the conflict with gratitude as she hurries after him. “My Lord, thank you for the apartment and the speeder. And the credits,” she adds. “You were very generous.”

He waves away her words as he faces the skyline. “I’m a wealthy man. Rich in all the things I don’t care about anymore.”

“Oh . . .” His sharply bitter words make her cringe. “My Lord . . . ” She boldly joins him where he stands, gloved hands resting on the railing as he rather pointedly looks out at the spectacular view. Is he ignoring her or is this a ploy to give them some privacy? With so many guards watching, Astral won’t dare to cover his gloved hand with hers. Instead, she rests her hand on the balustrade right up against his. Their little fingers are touching but only slightly. That’s as forward as she will risk tonight.

He knows what she’s doing. He shifts his pinky to cover hers. And that’s something, at least. The small gesture actually floods her with relief. But look at what they are reduced to. Staged meetings by Vanee as a go-between. Stilted, bickering conversation before curious witnesses. Arm’s length formality like she’s his subordinate. Astral hates it.

So, she asks softly, “What’s wrong? Vanee says you’re unhappy. Did I do this? Tell me.”

“No.”

“Is it Sheev?” she whispers.

“He’s his usual self.”

“Then, what is it? What’s bothering you?”

He doesn’t answer.

“My Lord, I want to help—"

He gives up any pretense of avoiding the issue. Instead, he rumbles softly, “I can’t tell you. I won’t endanger you.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“You fled from me once for danger,” he reminds her. “I won’t bring it to you here, Astral.”

She is dismayed by these ominous words. And now, for the first time she is glad that Vanee maneuvered this meeting. For he was right to sense his Master’s deep troubles.

Astral steps closer now. The night air lifts his cape a bit to brush against her leg. But even though it may appear overly familiar from the body language, Astral leans in. More than anything, she doesn’t want to be overheard. “I’m sorry. Let’s go inside in private. Please, my Lord, I don’t want to talk to that mask. I want to talk to you—to see you. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” she cajoles. “Just talk to me—“

“Astral—“

“My Lord, let me be your friend.”

He turns to regard her now. And, yes, they are definitely standing too close. She’s in his space and he’s in hers. The gargoyle grill chin of the shiny black mask lowers as he informs her, “You’re not my friend.”

Astral stares back a long moment at the red tinted eyes of his mask. “You’re right,” she nods. “Now let’s go inside.”

“Very well. Follow me.”

Lord Vader turns on heel and sweeps away in a swirl of inky black cape and swaying robes. Astral hastens to follow. Somewhere, she’s certain, Vanee has been looking on. But as she follows the Sith to the elevator, Astral doesn’t spy Vanee’s whereabouts. The longtime trusted servant has discreetly withdrawn. His work here is done most likely.

They reach an elevator and everyone waiting steps aside for Lord Vader. Astral ducks inside just before the doors close behind her. It’s not hard to notice how all the other occupants stiffen and clam up around their leader. Lord Vader’s fearsome reputation clearly proceeds him. It’s almost as if Astral can sense everyone’s blood pressure rise at the sight of the Sith. And she swears there is a collective exhale of relief from the elevator occupants when she follows Lord Vader out the door. From her prior trips to the kitchen, Astral recognizes the route to the non-public spaces of the palace. But the hallways they stride through are still full of uniformed military personnel, even this late in the day. The throng parts, of course, for their leader. Astral trails behind in Lord Vader’s wake, doing her best to match his pace.

“Keep up,” he admonishes without turning back.

Slightly breathless Astral shoots his broad caped shoulders a hard look. “I take two steps for every one of yours, my Lord. You are very tall.”

“So are you in those boots,” he informs her curtly.

“That’s the problem. Have you ever walked briskly in three-and-three-quarter-inch heels, my Lord?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, it’s harder than it looks,” she sniffs.

They enter another elevator now. And once again, when the door opens Lord Vader strides forth like he’s leading troops into battle. It’s annoying and Astral says so. “Slow down,” she complains.

He responds, “I’m in a hurry,” but does not alter his pace.

“What’s the hurry?” she huffs.

“You might change your mind.”

Not a chance, Astral thinks. She knew they had unfinished business and she knew that he was unhappy. But she didn’t expect it was this bad. Astral is still far from indifferent to Lord Vader. All along, she has only ever tried to help him. That’s still her motivation, perhaps now more than ever.

They reach a set of doors flanked by red robed Imperial guards. Lord Vader waves a hand and the doors open for him to sweep on through. But Astral is not permitted entry. The guards block her path with their crossed electrostaff weapons.

“Halt!” one guard commands.

Astral stops short and leaps back from their long pikes that ignite to buzz and snap.

Lord Vader pauses and half-turns to order, “Let her in,” before he closes the doors behind her with an imperious wave of his hand. “I’ll be the talk of the guard barracks tonight,” he grumbles. “You’re the first woman ever in my quarters.”

Unlike the castle, Lord Vader’s quarters at his palace are very sparse. Like super sparse. The room looks like a large multistory, windowless storage space to Astral’s eyes. In the center stands a white ship of some kind shaped like an egg. “What is that?” she asks as she squints at it and cocks her head.

“A supersized, fully furnished medical pod. It’s where I live in this awful place.” Lord Vader waves a gloved hand and the pod cracks open, separating into two interlocking hemispheres.

Er . . . oh. “You really live in that thing?”

“Regrettably so,” comes his sardonic reply. He beckons her forward to see it.

Astral peeks inside. “It’s white. Very white. Not your usual aesthetic,” she judges.

“You disapprove?”

“Oh, yeah,” she teases. “It’s not nearly Hellish enough. Where’s the lava?” 

He grunts. “I’m not much into decorating. The appeal of the pod is its function.” Lord Vader climbs in using the steps up the side, ducking through the opening. “Watch your head, the clearance is low,” he tells her as he offers a steadying hand.

“Maybe for you, but not for me.” Astral is much shorter.

They’re both inside now. It’s surprisingly spacious. Looking around, Astral sees a large desk and chair, a bed, and what looks to be a full-size bathroom. It’s obviously very lived in, from the datafiles and datapads littered everywhere, to the towel on the floor, to the extra pair of boots sitting by the bed.

Lord Vader now waves his hand yet again. This time, the pod closes with a loud thud. The whine of an airlock sounds. Next, a hissing noise starts as oxygen vapor floods the room from unseen jets. And that makes Astral smile. It strikes her as very Darth Vader. The guy always seems to be emerging from a menacing cloud of smoke, even in his personal medical pod. He has the creepy atmospherics down.

“Welcome to my lair,” he drawls, as he settles down heavily into his chair. “My oxygen rich lair.” 

“Wow,” Astral looks around again. This time, she sees the pot of bacta salve and the stray glove that has fallen on the floor. She approves of this messiness. It makes the pod look livable. “This is remarkably homey for a cracked egg. It brings new meaning to a home office.”

“It’s super oxygenated in here,” he explains. “That means I can breathe on my own without the mask.”

She whirls as the significance dawns. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Even with me breathing some of it?” she worries. 

“There’s plenty. The oxygen level constantly refreshes.”

“Are you sure? Because I breathe a lot.”

“There’s plenty.”

“So . . . this is sort of like living inside your helmet?” she guesses.

“That’s the idea. I based it off the basic medical capsule design and shielded it like a starfighter. It’s soundproof and airtight. It will withstand a blast or submersion. You could even shoot us into space,” he brags.

“Let’s not do any of those things,” Astral quickly requests.

“As you wish.” She can practically hear his smirk behind those words. It makes her smile a little. 

The pod was built with one person’s comfort in mind, so there’s nowhere for Astral to sit. So she stands hovering tall over seated Lord Vader. “How’s the left leg these days?” she asks offhand, searching for a neutral topic.

“It’s better.”

“Yeah? Do your toes still go numb?”

“No. I’m wiggling them now.”

“Good. And the inflammation on the prosthetic collars?” 

“Almost gone. No more pain from swelling.”

Her eyes widen. That is good news. “You are much better.”

“Levy thinks so.”

“So . . . if you don’t need the mask,” she begins as she lifts her hands to rest lightly on his armored shoulders, “May I?”

“Go ahead. Take it off.”

Astral deploys the latch that breaks the hermetic seal, then lifts off the uppermost portion of the two-piece helmet. She places it aside gently. Then she removes the face portion, careful to detach it from the respirator device built into the neck collar. Lord Vader’s face is completely exposed now, like the first time she saw him on the freighter fleeing Coruscant. At the castle, he had needed a supplemental oxygen mask. But this is better. Much better.

“There you are,” Astral breathes out as she reaches to cup his cheeks with both hands. His lips turn up at her touch. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile,” she realizes aloud.

Her comment banishes the expression immediately. “Darth Vader doesn’t smile,” he grumbles. 

“It was an unofficial smile. Off the record. Totally didn’t happen,” Astral backtracks. “I like you like this,” she decides. “I like to see your whole face.”

He grunts. “You’re the only one.”

“I’m fine with that.”

He’s as pale as always, with the deep purple shadows she remembers beneath his eyes and worry lines etched on his forehead. Astral was hoping he would look better under the mask now that the rest of him has healed so well. But she can tell that the last six months have been hard. “You look stressed.”

He shakes his head and she drops her hands. “More like worried.”

“How can I help?”

“You can’t help.”

“Okay. . . Then how can we take your mind off all that?”

“You can’t. I just have to deal with it. It’s my destiny, I suppose . . . “ His voice trails off as he sighs. 

Astral tries again for another topic. “Any luck finding the pilot?”

“No. It’s like he and the Rebels have disappeared.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. Tell me about Coruscant,” he requests. “I don’t want to talk about the pilot.”

She nods and begins to fill him in on the past six months. Astral rattles on while he interjects a question now and then. “My life is very quiet now,” she jokes. “No one yells at me. No one tries to kill me. I haven’t seen a dead body in months.” But it dawns on Astral that she’s doing all the talking. So, she invites, “Tell me about you. Enough about me. Your turn, my Lord.”

Darth Vader exhales and makes a face. “I wish I could tell you what’s going on, but it’s better this way.”

She won’t press for confidences, especially the dangerous kind. Astral simply nods. “I understand.”

Looking up at her, Lord Vader decides, “I don’t want to talk.” Then he lurches to his feet and lays his gloved hands on her arms. “I have missed you,” he rasps. 

She nods and confesses, “Life isn’t the same without you.” And it’s not just the drama, the danger, and the violence that’s gone from her life. It’s him. The enigmatic, always surprising, never disappointing, depressive Sith Lord she both admires and likes. 

“Astral—“

“Yes?”

She’s standing under him. So close and yet so far. Is he going to make a move? She hopes he will. But he’s taking his time. Lingering and hovering. Waiting and watching. Astral’s heart is pounding with nervous anticipation. This is taking too long. She’s impatient. Does he need encouragement? Astral whispers softly, “I missed you.”

That does the trick. Lord Vader’s surprisingly soft lips come down on hers. Yes, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t come tonight hoping for this. Instantly, she is a very enthusiastic participant. 

With no need for a respirator, the kiss goes on and on, seducing her few remaining inhibitions fast. Astral is pressed close with her arms wrapped around his neck. They stand intwined in the embrace for a long moment of hungry, open mouth kisses. When finally Astral pulls back, his yellow eyes are snapping at her with intensity.

She knows what he’s thinking. She’s thinking it too. “Are we doing this?” she asks breathlessly.

He doesn’t answer with words. He just starts removing one glove and then the next. Astral watches in silence as his metal fingers reach up to unhook his cape. And next, his full shoulder armor.

“We’re doing this . . . “ she surmises, watching him undress. She’s excited and a bit afraid. Last time hadn’t gone so well. But both of them had been out of practice for this sort of thing. “We doing this. . .” She whispers it aloud again.

He meets her eyes steadily even as he unhooks the clasp on his heavy shirt and sweeps it over his head. “You tell me,” he requests as he peels off the black undershirt as well, careful to thread the now loose chest plate through the neck. “Are we doing this?”

And wow—is this the same man? Astral is too distracted by his new physique to answer. “Look at you,” she marvels with unabashed admiration. And is it her imagination, or does the mighty Lord Vader actually blush at her reaction?

“I’ve been swinging a sword lately.”

Yes, she sees. Astral remembers a shrunken chest and prominent ribs. But six months later, Lord Vader is not scrawny and thin under the suit anymore. His frame has clear muscle definition across the chest, back, and midsection. He looks like a fit man. Like a healthy man. Like an athlete. Except for the prosthetics, of course.

“These new arms are heavier. They caused me to bulk up a bit.” He sounds a bit sheepish. And, yes, he’s blushing. Astral loves it. Because she’s one of very few people who knows that Darth Vader can be embarrassed. Because he’s a man, just like any other man, even if he’s an extraordinary man like no other. 

Seeing his obviously much improved health warms her heart. “You look like a superhero,” she declares happily. “Like a super Sith.”

He snorts and shoots her a look. “Hardly.”

“I’m going to have to join a gym,” Astral thinks aloud, suddenly a bit self-conscious about her own unremarkable body. When they had gone to bed together at the castle, she had felt unusually confident given it was her first time naked in front of him. But knowing Lord Vader’s injuries and limitations had put Astral’s own bodily imperfections in context. She couldn’t feel awkward about her less than tight abs when he didn’t have even one of his original limbs left. It had felt very freeing, actually. For if she could accept him in his wrecked body, then surely she could accept herself too. But now, seeing rippling muscles across his broad chest, Astral thinks she might want those tight abs after all. 

“I last saw Darth Patient,” she muses, “but now, you’re Darth Six Pack.”

He makes a face. “Don’t let it fool you. I’m still a monster in a mask.”

“No, you’re not.” She trails a hand up his skin under the wires that plug his chest plate into the electrical ports high on his shoulder. He takes that as his cue to yank out the cords and set aside the monitoring apparatus. 

He’s stripped completely bare chested now. All hard muscles and steel arms. Astral would be lying if she said she didn’t find the sight of him somewhat intimidating but very attractive. There’s a certain thrill to his danger. And while this man’s body—what’s left of it—might be hairless and scarred, it is still beautifully formed. And every bit of it is a triumph to his determination, she knows. Where another man might give up, Lord Vader digs in. Astral knows as well as anyone how fragile he is. And yet, somehow, he seems also so invincible. Like some warrior demigod of the Force.

“So, are we doing this?” he prompts. The man is direct, as always. 

Astral nods. “Yes.” Is there any other answer? He needs this, she senses very strongly. And she too needs this more than she cares to admit. Plus, it feels so good to be wanted by a man such as this.

“Yes to what?” he persists.

Does he need to hear it out loud? “Yes to everything.” Yes to everything and more.

Lord Vader flashes that half-smile, half-smirk she finds wryly charming. “Then, you’re overdressed,” he observes.

Astral gamely shrugs out of her short jacket. But her fingers fumble at the buttons for the blouse underneath. She’s suddenly nervous that what she reveals will not please. But it’s too late for shyness now. The blouse parts and slides off to reveal her pale pink bra underneath, even as her eyes find the floor and her cheeks grow hot.

“Go on,” he gently prods when she hesitates.

With a fortifying breath, Astral reaches to unfasten the waistband of her tailored culottes. They slip to the floor with a whisper of silk lining and wool then puddle at her ankles. Astral steps out of the pants. Now, she wears only the sheer pink bra and matching panties with her tall boots.

Lord Vader looks her over. “Leave them on,” he stops her as she reaches to remove the shoes. “I think I like you this tall.”

Okay. Astral gives a good-natured shrug at the ridiculous of the request. “Suit yourself.” She’ll give the man what he likes. Plus, the comment breaks some of the nervous tension of the moment.

Lord Vader smiles again. It’s such a rare occurrence that it feels very special. Like a shared secret between them. That too diffuses her nerves.

“You’re beautiful,” he rumbles softly as he approaches and raises a hand to caress her silhouette.

Blushing Astral can’t resist deflecting the compliment. She’s never been good with compliments. “Even with short hair?”

“It’s not your hair that makes you beautiful, it’s your heart. And,” Lord Vader adds, “the hair will grow.”

Astral is bemused. “So, you’re a long hair, long dress kind of guy?” And, aren’t they all? It figures, she fumes.

“Right now, I’m a short hair, no dress kind of guy,” he answers as he reaches around her to undo her bra strap. The lingerie falls away and now she’s back in his arms, besieged by urgent kisses. This next interlude interrupts for yet another short strip tease from each of them, and now they are both undressed. Each panting and yearning for more.

He lays her back on his unmade bed. And now, his kiss drops from her lips, to her neck, to her shoulders, to her breasts. He’s in no rush this time as he wanders down her body, teasing her as he goes. This is what he couldn’t do at the castle with his respirator on, she realizes. But here in his medical pod, there are no such limitations. All the slow adoration has her arching beneath him with undisguised longing.

“Let’s do this,” she moans wantonly as his mouth finds her left hip bone. Because is he as ready as she is? “My Lord,” she groans as she opens her knees wider in invitation. “My Lord—“

“You first.”

He’s not going to?? He is. His mouth travels lower and lower down from her hip. This definitely would not happen with his oxygen mask on. Right then and there, Astral decides that she loves this weird medical pod egg thing. The feel of his metal hands holding her thighs down is so amazingly erotic. It’s also hard and cold. A stark contrast to his gentle warm tongue that drives her wild. That juxtaposition is very Lord Vader, Astral decides, for the man is ripe with contradictions. But oh, does he know what he’s doing . . . Astral gasps and writhes, head thrown back and eyes closed, from his expert attentions. 

She has learned by now that the first impressions of Darth Vader are usually wrong. The inhumane, aggressive looking helmet and suit with the conspicuous sword. . . all that gruff, acerbic snark . . . It is less who he is and more who he purports to be. In the bedroom as well, Astral is fast realizing, she has also received a false first impression. Because tonight he could not be more loverlike in his aim to please. He seems determined to take full advantage of this second chance at sex.

_Let go._ She hears his voice in her mind and not in her ears. _Let go._ Astral submits to the command, losing herself in the sheer abandon of the moment. It is the ultimate sensation as her mind blanks and reboots with pleasure. When she opens her eyes, he chuckles, “My turn,” sounding smugly pleased.

This is safe, Astral tells herself as he now positions himself to enter her body. This is safe because they have made no promises to break, there are no expectations to let down, and there is no unspoken timetable for a progression to any particular future. This isn’t love. They aren’t dating. There is no label for whatever their relationship is. And that is a big relief. All the pressure is off. Astral did that love and marriage thing once already, and it didn’t work out. She’s not anxious to hazard her heart again.

So . . . what is this? This is two lonely people who care for one another finding respite behind closed doors and away from prying eyes. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? These are confusing times. So tonight, Astral will glory in this tryst with her secret Sith Lord lover. And revel too in the emotional reunion with a struggling friend who is not a friend and certainly not a boyfriend.

In the morning, she will find shallow, sharp scratches and nicks here and there on tender parts of her body. These are the telltale signs of the embrace of Darth Vader, the marks from the lover who is more machine than man. But for all his artificial parts, he is achingly human. Astral knows that the most fragile part of this fearsome man is his heart. It was dashed to pieces long ago by a wife he both loves and hates, who he blames but would instantly forgive if he could. She haunts his castle as an unseen presence that Astral can never equal, let alone surpass. And really, that’s the biggest reason why Astral can’t get involved with Lord Vader in any meaningful way. She might be willing to brave the danger to love him if he could love her back. But she’s no fool. Darth Vader’s heart is still taken in all the ways that matter. Astral could never let herself settle for second place as a second wife, but she’s happy to accept whatever this night is called.


	16. chapter 16

“What did we just do?” Astral murmurs into his chest. She is laying naked on top of him and it feels amazing. She’s warm and soft, like the best weighted blanket ever.

Vader doesn’t miss a beat. His mind might be soft and fuzzy with afterglow, but he’s already angling for a repeat. “We’re not done yet,” he informs her. “I’m here tomorrow night.”

“For Empire Day?“

“Yes. Once a year, I stand behind Sheev making a speech and we all pretend to be happy warriors for a rosy future.” Vader strokes her hair as he grumbles, “I hate holidays.” Most especially stupid made up holidays like Empire Day.

“Hating holidays. That sounds very Darth Vader of you,” she chuckles.

“If you’ve heard one of those speeches, you’ve heard them all,” he grouses. “Here’s the punchline: ‘submit to my fascist agenda for a safe and secure society and we’ll all be happier.’ What kind of pep talk is that?” he scoffs. “But at least it keeps me here another night.” He muses aloud now, “I can be in Coruscant a lot. This is an easy place for me to make an excuse to return.” He won’t be getting enough of Astral Sidhu anytime soon.

She balks. “I thought we had agreed not to do this.“

Nope. They’re doing this, he decides for both of them. Because damn, this woman makes him feel young again. With Astral, he’s a little reckless and a lot hopeful. And those are nostalgic, life affirming emotions Vader hasn’t felt in a long, long time. Stupidly, he let her get away once. He won’t make that mistake again. But first, he has to convince her.

“I thought we had agreed not to do this . . . right?” Astral asks when he doesn’t immediately answer. Alarmed, she sits up now. She’s straddling him laying down and that feels good as well. Plus, the view is better. Astral has great breasts. Not too big, not too small. Just right.

“You said you didn’t want to do the long-distance thing,” she reminds him.

“I don’t.”

She looks threatened by this response. Suddenly, she’s defensive. “Look, I’ve got a new life here. I’m not going to back to the castle. I have nightmares about the castle.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“I’ll take what I can get of you. If this is what you’re offering, then I accept.” Vader reaches up to brush away a stray strand of hair that has fallen in front of her eyes. “I am grateful,” he adds. This is a compromise he’s very willing to make.

“Oh,” she reconsiders. “Okay.” She starts to warm to the idea. “This could be good . . . This could be good . . . “

He feels compelled to warn, “It could be dangerous. Are you up for that?“

“Not really,” she answers honestly. “Can’t we keep it a secret?”

“Do you know how many people saw you walk in here? How many cameras you were on?”

“Yikes.” He sees her swallow hard as reality sinks in.

Vader levels with her. “Other than my old identity, there are very few secrets in my life.” Well, there’s one secret. One very deadly secret that he will not burden anyone with but himself. “I’m far too much a public figure to keep us secret for long.”

“So, you’re saying it will be a very public walk of shame getting out of here tonight?” she sighs.

“Yes.” But he doesn’t want that. Not yet. They’re not done yet. He tugs her down again into his arms, coaxing, “Stay with me. Leave in the morning. Don’t tell me you’ll be late for work because it’s a holiday.”

“Alright,” she readily agrees.

He feels her relax again. It’s on the tip of his tongue to declare himself and to ask her to do the same. Because he wants to know if she could love him. Because he could love her. He could easily love her. But fearful of scaring her off, Vader keeps quiet.

The strategy works because she murmurs drowsily, “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.” More than she should know, actually. He’s embarrassingly needy for this woman. Part of him cannot believe his good fortune for what has transpired tonight. Second chances are rare in life, especially for a Sith.

“I worried about you every time I saw you on the newsfeed,“ she confesses.

“I worried you would find a new boyfriend on Coruscant. Some rich art dealer who would sweep you off your feet.“

“Nah,” she decides, teasing him, “I like my men tall, dark, and handsome.”

“I can give you two of the three,” Vader retorts. But he is legitimately concerned about the boyfriend possibility, so he tentatively broaches the topic. “So . . . what is this? What are we now?”

“Do we have to put a label on it?“

“Should I take that to mean you won’t let me put a ring on it?” he replies before he can remember to stop himself.

And, of course, it’s the wrong thing to say. He feels her stiffen again. “Let’s keep this casual.”

“Nothing about my life is casual.” As a rule, Dark Lords are not casual. The Dark Side is serious business.

“Be casual for me,” she wheedles.

He pushes back. “I’m a commitment kind of guy. The Sith are all or nothing.”

“Then, for me, consider yourself Jedi.“

He snorts. “If I were Jedi, we wouldn’t be in bed together.”

“Then consider yourself a corrupted Jedi.”

“I guess that shoe fits,” he grunts. “Astral, it might be easier for me to protect you if you have a clear label.” He could get a wife a security detail. Maybe even a mistress, too.

“Then how about ‘super secret lover’?” she suggests playfully.

He makes a face. ‘Lover’ is not what he’s angling for. “Can I at least trade up to girlfriend?”

She turns him down. “No. Lover is good. It’s more glamorous and risqué.”

“I’m serious,” he whines. “At least make this exclusive. Astral, I won’t share you with another.” He’s the jealous type. He’ll kill any man who touches her. 

“Fine,” she decides. “I’ll be your ‘super secret exclusive lover.’”

“What does that mean exactly if it’s not a girlfriend?”

She thinks a moment. “It means that we will care for each other. That I will keep your secrets and keep my freedom and independence.”

“I’m more worried about you keeping your head,” he grumbles.

“Then don’t make me a target, my Lord. Keep me on the down low,” she tosses off some slang as she snuggles deeper. Her words push him away even as her arms tug him closer.

Vader keeps negotiating in view of her mixed signals. “What else are you offering? What am I getting out of this arrangement?”

“Unlimited sleepovers in your egg.”

He accepts. “Deal.” For now, at least. He reserves the right to reopen the issue in the future. But for tonight, he’ll stop there lest he screw it up again with heavy-handed overtures and talk of forever.

And now that’s settled, he raises another thorny topic. By virtue of his position, he is privy to many secrets of the Empire. Vader now divulges the current best kept one. He wants her to know so there will be as few secrets between them as possible. “Astral, Sheev’s building another one.”

“Another what?”

“Another Death Star.”

She sits up straight away. “N-Nooo—“ Her expression says it all.

“It’s true.”

“You have to stop him!”

“I will.” There will be no more Alderaans on his watch. “First, I’m going to try to slow him down.”

“No! You have to stop him!” she shrieks.

He nods. He understands her emotion for the issue. This is very personal for Astral. So he promises, “If I can’t kill the project with delays, I will get the Rebels to blow it up.”

“How?”

“I’ll tell them where to find it and how to do it.”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s treason.”

“Yes.”

She lets that admission sink in a moment. Then she boldly announces, “You should be the Emperor. You would be a great Emperor.”

Vader sighs. He appreciates the vote of confidence—really, he does—but this is a sore subject still. Astral doesn’t know that, of course, so he comes clean. “Long ago, that was the plan. Sheev knows it, too. He even foresaw it in the Force. But that future is gone. The future is always in motion. Some versions never come to fruition.” Like the one in which he killed his Master to ascend to the top of the Empire and ruled happily ever after with Padme as a benevolent dictator.

“The Emperor sees the future?” Astral looks as alarmed as she does intrigued.

“I used to see it too. Not anymore. Not since I was hurt.” Too much of his Force is gone, Vader supposes. The cosmic Force hides its secrets from him now. The living Force of the here and now is his only ally of late.

“What is that like?” she wants to know.

Vader answers honestly. “It was a burden to know the future, not a blessing. There was too much temptation to try to change it. That made it a trap. Destiny can only be outrun for so long before it must be confronted.”

“So you know your destiny?” she marvels.

He sighs. “I thought I did. But now . . . I’m not so sure.”

“Tell me,” she presses.

Vader decides to reveal more, and their pillow talk now shifts to power and the Force. Those are the two defining topics of his life, for better or for worse. And if he is going to have any future with Astral, she needs to understand that he has been disappointed by more than just the loss of his wife and his children. There are bigger issues at stake beyond his personal happiness. And that may be where his epic failure has had the most lasting consequence.

He begins, “Long ago, the Jedi called me the Chosen One. They thought I would be the one with all the answers.” Instead, he raised too many questions that are as yet still unresolved. “It was a prophesy as old as the Jedi Order itself. It promised that there would one day come a Jedi Master who would bring balance to the Force.” He recalls aloud the words that still haunt him to this day:

_“In the time of greatest despair,_

_a child shall be born_

_who will destroy the Sith _

_and bring balance to the Force.”_

“There are a couple different versions of the wording. But that’s the one most commonly used. We were taught it as younglings. We all memorized the passage from the Journal of the Wills, too.” Now again, Vader recites the singsong kiddie version:

_“First comes the day _

_Then comes the night. _

_After the darkness _

_Shines through the light. _

_The difference, they say, _

_Is only made right _

_By the resolving of gray _

_Through refined Jedi sight.”_

“What does that mean?” Astral asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. “Say it again. Slower, this time, please.”

He declines, telling her, “Don’t get hung up on the actual words. Translations can be loose, especially when the prophecy is handed down over a thousand generations. Focus on the bigger picture that there will come a messiah of the Force to unify the traditions of the Dark and the Light. That’s the point of the Chosen One prophesy: that in the end, change will come to unify us all.”

“And you were supposed to be that guy . . . the Chosen One?”

“Yes.” He continues, “It is a Jedi prophesy written from their point of view, so that’s why it speaks of destruction of the Sith and of refining Jedi sight. But the Sith have their own version of the Chosen One myth. Their tradition includes a legend of a Sith overlord who will rise to power and ultimately destroy the Sith. But in doing so, he will make the Sith more powerful than ever before. Basically, through their demise, the Sith are renewed. A bunch of dead Sith Lords have tried to lay claim to the mantle of the Sith’ari, including my Master’s own master Darth Plagueis. But none yet has measured up.”

“And what about the Jedi? Was this S-Sith’ari,” Astral stumbles over the unfamiliar word, “supposed to destroy the Jedi?”

“Oh, naturally,” Vader drawls. “The Sith took it on faith that they would destroy their enemy. They wouldn’t bother with prophecy about that event. They viewed the end of the Jedi Order as a natural consequence of the superiority of the Sith. But the point is that both sides—the Dark and the Light—conceived of the same concept. Whether you look for a Jedi Master Chosen One or a Sith Master Sith’ari, you look for an extraordinary man who will end the war over the Force once and for all.” Does she think this is a bunch of religious hooey? It’s not. Vader tells her solemnly, “Astral, it’s true, all of it. My Master knows it, too.” 

“And you were supposed to be that man?” she asks again.

“Yes.”

“Is that why the Emperor wanted you as Apprentice?” Astral is sharp as ever as she cuts right to the crux of the matter.

“Yes. He who controls the Chosen One, controls the Force,” Vader answers glumly, for this is the failure that he regrets most of all. He was supposed to be the divine redeemer of the Force. Born from the Force to remake the Force. But instead, he has been revealed to be humiliatingly fallible and entirely too mortal. Now kept alive by mechanics and sharply reduced in his Force sensitivity, he is a poor excuse for a messiah.

Astral is still trying to make sense of it all. “I don’t understand. If you are the Chosen One, then you were supposed to destroy the Sith, not join them . . . right?”

It’s true. Obi-Wan had said the same thing long ago. “The irony is that joining the Sith is what has convinced me of the need to destroy them,” Vader admits. “I destroyed the Jedi Order. It was the right thing to do. If I could, I would destroy the Sith as well. I would end this destructive conflict that has plagued the Force for thousands of generations.”

He’s thought a lot about this topic. It makes his words come out vehement. “Astral, both religions are wrong. You don’t worship half the Force. You must revere it in its totality. Otherwise, you are inexorably led to extremes. Like the Jedi were led into a ridiculously pure version of the Light with their cult of rules and control. And like Sheev is now consumed with Darkness with his paranoia and megalomania. We need a more moderate path forward for the future.”

“You still want to balance the Force, don’t you?” she observes softly.

“Yes.” He would dearly love to fulfill his destiny as the Chosen One. Not for his own aggrandizement, but for the sake of his son and all the Force users to come. But alas, there is no destroying the Sith to balance the Force so long as Sheev lives. And since Vader can’t kill him, he will fail in his calling. “It is too late for me now. But maybe someone else can do it.”

“Like who? The Jedi are extinct.”

“Like that pilot,” Vader risks divulging.

“The pilot?” Astral recoils. Her eyes narrow. “You mean the Death Star pilot? I thought you were going to kill him.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Why? Why would you do that?” She is alarmed. “My Lord, you must protect yourself!”

“I think I might need to protect the pilot instead,” he muses. “To keep him from being my replacement Apprentice. To safeguard him for whatever the Force has in mind for him.”

“But he’s a Rebel,” Astral pushes back. “Doesn’t that make him your enemy?”

“Yes,” Vader concedes.

“Then why would you help him?”

“The pilot is strong with the Force. That’s no accident. He will be important to the future.”

“Not if you kill him,” she urges, sounding very bloodthirsty. It’s unlike her, but Vader knows it’s motivated by a desire to protect him. And that’s endearing. Astral cares far more than her arm’s length posturing lets on.

And here he goes with more lore of the Force, telling her, “The Jedi used to teach that especially strong Force users were agents of change. They occur for a reason. They rise to influence things. My first Jedi Master was one. He was a maverick on the outs with the High Council. Qui-Gon was full of ideas they found threatening. But everyone liked him so much that they tolerated him for the most part. He died before he did anything truly revolutionary. But he was heading that direction.”

Astral nods and makes another one of her insightful statements. “He sounds a lot like you.”

He was. “I wish he had lived. Things might have gone differently.” He’s now twenty years a Sith, but there are still moments when Vader thinks he senses his original Jedi Master in the Force. Everyone else from his past has long since given up on him, but not Qui-Gon Jinn. The man might have been problematic in his own time, but in many respects, he had the true spirit of a Jedi. It was the Order that had strayed too far from its core principles.

“So . . . you think this pilot might be the next big thing?” Astral worries.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Sheev has gone off the deep end into Darkness. The Force already used the pilot to destroy Sheev’s super weapon. Maybe it has bigger plans for him going forward.”

“I don’t understand.”

She’s missing the significance of balance, Vader realizes. So he tells Astral, “If I’m right and the Force defaults to balance, then when Darkness rises, the Light will rise to meet it. That pilot is the balance for Sheev.”

“Sounds more like conflict than balance to me,” she harrumphs. “Balance sounds nice. Like peace and harmony. Not like blowing up Death Stars.”

“In practice, balance has mostly been dissonance,” Vader concedes. “The Dark and Light have historically been equal enemies who endure. That’s a sort of balance, even if it’s not peace. I thought I could change all that.” He shakes his head with rueful regret.

“Could you change it still? With the enemy pilot?” she ventures.

“It’s risky to approach him.” Although Vader daydreams often of that very move.

“Yeah, I could see that. He probably wants to kill you,” Astral reasons.

Regrettably so. “With the right training from Sheev, the pilot probably could kill me,” Vader admits. It’s a depressing thought. Vader knows he was far stronger as a Jedi than he is as a Sith, thanks mostly to his injuries.

“What about training from you?” Astral suggests.

Vader’s yellow eyes pin her down. Because this too he daydreams about. “What do you mean?”

Astral goes there. She goes right there. “Could you train this pilot to kill the Emperor for you?”

“Now, who’s talking treason?” He shoots her a look.

“You brought it up,” she reminds him. Then, she warms to the idea. “My Lord, you could rule the galaxy and the pilot could be your Apprentice.”

It’s a fantasy he would love, but Vader’s days of dreaming that big are over. For one, it’s far too risky. Vader would never enlist his son in that cause knowing full well that the entire burden of killing Sheev would fall on Luke since Vader himself is so weak. And besides, there is a larger issue here—the goal of overthrowing Sheev wouldn’t be the usual ‘kill and replace’ cycle of the Dark Side renewing itself. “I don’t want him to be Sith.” Luke Skywalker will not repeat his father’s mistakes if Darth Vader has anything to say about it.

Astral isn’t troubled by the semantics. “Call it whatever you want. If Sheev is dead, can’t you just remake the Force how you like? And then, there will be no more Death Stars. No more Alderaans.” She sounds so hopeful. For Astral, naturally, is focused on her own concerns. She doesn’t appreciate the whole context of who the pilot is nor does she fully appreciate the dynamics of the Force.

Vader grumbles again. “I don’t want him to be Sith.” That’s why he plans to hide his boy. To protect him.

Meanwhile, Astral’s suggesting they plow headlong into danger. She’s enthusiastic, too. “Think about it—together you could reform the Empire. Make it better. With the pilot’s Rebel ideas and your knowledge and experience of the Empire, surely you two would be an effective team? It could unite the galaxy once more.” She sounds truly excited.

“It’s not that easy.” It’s terribly complicated, actually. Fraught with terrible risk for all involved. Vader only sees the downsides and they are very, very steep.

“I know,” she concedes. “But it sounds good.” She grumbles, “I’d love for you to get out from under Sheev. I hate how he treats you. I think I hate our Emperor,” she says fiercely.

“That pilot needs to stay far away from Sheev,” Vader growls. He will protect his boy for as long as he can. There’s no way he will ever enlist his son in a treason plot that might get them both killed.

Unaware of the pertinent facts, Astral misunderstands. “I get it. You don’t want Sheev to get any ideas to replace you.”

And that’s part of it, but not all of it. Mostly, he wants to protect Luke. Vader has long wondered why he lived after his defeat to Obi-Wan. Why is he still here? It must be because he still has a purpose. There must be work yet to be done before the Force calls him home. For years, Vader assumed that work was to temper Sheev and to help rule the Empire. But now Vader suspects that his purpose has only recently been revealed: he lives to protect Luke Skywalker. But he cannot confide that to Astral.

“Sheev’s been fine lately,” Vader tells her. “Look, your plan would never work. I’m not sure Sheev’s even capable of dying.”

“Everyone dies,” she scoffs.

“Not on the Dark Side,” Vader counters, thinking of the mysterious Lord Plagueis who is rumored to have conquered death for others, if not for himself. “Sheev has a lot of contingencies for his own demise. It’s not just his clones. The guy has long been paranoid his reign will end and not on his terms. Immortality been his focus for years. Killing Sheev might be a lot harder now.”

They fall silent a for bit. The sober tone of their discussion has put a damper on the evening. So much for keeping things light and casual.

Beside him, Astral is still thinking. She might be a complete newbie on the lore of the Force, but she’s intelligent and thoughtful. Yet again, she gets right to the heart of the matter. “I don’t get it. With the Death Star gone, what’s the Darkness rising that’s brought on this pilot? Where’s the need for balance coming from? Is it the threat of this new Death Star?”

“Maybe.” Vader isn’t sure himself. “The Force is a rough justice, not an exact science. It ebbs and flows. But we’ve been twenty years without much influence of the Light, so perhaps things will shift again toward the Jedi.”

“But aren’t you the Light of the Empire?”

“What?” The comment surprises him. Sith that he is, he’s taken aback.

Astral clearly fears that she has offended him. But she answers nonetheless. “Well, I don’t know much about the Force, but you talk a lot more about the Jedi than you do the Sith. And you seem to balance some of the more extreme aspects of Sheev.”

She’s right . . . but only to a point. “I’m not as effective as you think I am.”

“Well, I still don’t get it. If you’re sort of Jedi and sort of Sith, and assuming this new Rebel guy is a Jedi since the Rebellion is all about the Old Republic, then shouldn’t the need for balance come on the Dark Side? Isn’t it the Dark Side that should feel threatened?” she wonders.

“Sheev is plenty paranoid.”

“Well, what do I know?” Astral sighs. “It just seems like the Dark Side should be rising now, but guess that’s impossible since you and Sheev are the only Sith.”

“Yes.” Well, supposedly. But that’s a whole other issue. Plus, Vader’s had enough troubling Force talk. As it is, this conversation has veered far too close to that Death Star pilot’s identity. That’s a secret Vader does not plan to share with anyone ever.

Hours later, Astral has gone home and Vader finds himself standing on the dais with the rest of the Imperial leadership. Sheev is at the rostrum giving his annual state of the galaxy speech. This is the one day a year when Vader is actually thankful that he wears a mask. He doesn’t need to pretend to look interested for the cameras. This year’s address is particularly gloomy. It’s all vows to avenge the Death Star victims and thinly veiled threats to the Alliance leaders. The long eulogy for Alderaan in the middle is laughably ironic. Vader indulges in some eye rolling for that ten minutes of extremely grating insincerity.

Is Luke Skywalker watching this speech somewhere with his Rebel comrades? Vader wonders what his prodigal son thinks of all this patriotic pomp and chest thumping. Back when Vader was his son’s age, he had believed all of this crap. How had he been so gullible? Mostly because he was raised Jedi to believe in abstract concepts of justice, truth, and peace. It didn’t help things that he had been serially searching for father figures his whole life. Sheev took full advantage of that neediness, grooming him for years to be skeptical of the Jedi. But now, many years later, Vader has come full circle. He stands cynical and complicit to the big lie that is the Empire. No one knows better than he does just how petty, greedy, and smallminded his Master truly is. It’s always only about him. All this fluff about the public good is bullshit and always has been. It just took Vader a while to see it. The vast majority of the galaxy hasn’t still hasn’t wised up. Only the Rebels see Palpatine for what he is, but their solutions are unacceptable in Vader’s mind.

Moments like this will make it very hard to convince his son of his own sincerity, Vader knows. But maybe if Luke understands the trap of the Apprentice role, he will realize the predicament Vader lives in. He’s the enforcer of the galaxy and the chief wrangler of Sheev’s cult of personality, even if he hates it. But he can’t quit and live, so Vader goes along with it and subverts where he can.

Finally, the lengthy ceremony ends. Now, it’s time for his obligatory interview with Sheev. It begins with groveling, as usual. Vader lumbers down on one knee in the sepulcher throne room that he privately thinks is a silly affectation. There’s trying to be Sith, and there’s trying too hard to be Sith. Sheev errs on the side of the latter choice each and every time. Still, Vader knows his place and fulfills his role. He bows his head low in supplication, giving Lord Sidious his full obeisance due.

“My Master,” he intones with faux reverence honed from long practice.

“Arise, Lord Vader,” Sheev croaks. Normally all the public adulation of Empire Day strokes his Master’s ego and puts him in a good mood. But not today. Lord Sidious scowls and sneers, “Why does the Rebellion still persist?”

And thus begins one of their typical colloquies. Sheev asks questions not to elicit information or to engage in discussion. He’s trying to make a point. Vader says the bare minimum in response, hoping to keep things short.

“Well?” indignant Sheev demands.

“I will find them, Master.”

“You’re not even close to finding them! I need arrests! Get me Mon Mothma so I can parade her in handcuffs, give her a trial, and a public execution.”

That’s a bad call, Vader thinks. Giving that woman a platform to air her views is a mistake. And making her a martyr for democracy will only encourage others to her cause. But he keeps those thoughts to himself.

“I need prisoners. I need progress. Get me something to show for your efforts,” his Master hisses.

“There have been no further attacks,” Vader points out.

“That line won’t work forever. I promised the people justice. Get me some Rebels traitors to kill. Lord Vader, you make me look ineffective,” his Master complains.

“I will find them,” Vader promises again before he changes the topic. “Are you bringing back the Senate?”

“Not with a Rebellion in my midst.”

“Bringing back the Senate will undercut the Rebels’ claims that you are a tyrant.” Sheev needs to blunt the message of the Rebels by making himself appear reasonable. The goal ought to be to portray the Rebels as the extremists. To claim the moral high ground. But, as usual, Sheev is oblivious. As he gets older, he becomes more and more dismissive of public opinion. The man’s arrogance is his weakness.

True to form, Lord Sidious does not disappoint. “I am the Senate,” Sheev proclaims. “Once more the Sith rule the galaxy and I am that Sith,” he sniffs. “Democracy died years ago, Lord Vader. The Senate has long been superfluous.”

Yes, he is well aware. But that’s not the point. “The people don’t know that.” Vader recalls now how important the symbolism of the Senate had been to Astral. Vader suspects she is not alone in her view. And if the Empire loses support of moderates like Astral, the Rebels just might win. How easy might it have been to invite the disbanded Imperial Senate leadership to stand on the dais today with the rest of Sheev’s cronies? To make it at least appear like the Senate was still relevant even if it was temporarily disbanded during the Rebellion crisis? But tone deaf Sheev hadn’t wanted to share the limelight. It was a missed opportunity for some political stagecraft in Vader’s opinion.

The uncomfortable truth is that Sheev seems to be enjoying the Rebel threat. He’s using it as an excuse to crack down for all sorts of minor infractions that are really just Sheev’s pet peeves. His Master is doing what he loves the most—punishing. The man is a sadist at heart. Gleeful for the chance to inflict harm. “Find them! Wipe them out! All of them!” he crows. Sheev sounds like an overtired toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

But it’s Vader’s cue to make a fist and vow, “The traitors will pay, my Master.” And did he deliver that line with sufficient emotion? Managing Sheev can be a tricky thing.

He must have succeeded because Sheev moves on. “Can you feel the Darkness churning?” he purrs. “Do you sense the imminent change?”

Honestly, no. Vader fesses up. “No, my Master.” There’s no point in pretending, and Sith Masters get off on displays of humility that they can in turn condescend to.

“Hmmm,” Sheev half-growls, half-snorts. “So weak you are in the Shadow Force. Dooku had more command of the Dark Side than you do. Of course, he wasn’t half a man like you are.”

Vader silently endures the humiliation. It’s part of his job to be the whipping boy.

“Triumph lies ahead. I can feel it,” Sheev boasts. “The last time I felt this much anticipation was the day I was elected Chancellor. That was not the beginning, but it was a turning point. It gave me the impetus I needed to strike against my Master. He died with a smile on his face, like all Sith Masters do. Confident that he had played his part and done his duty to rear the next son of Darkness. Of course,” Lord Sidious muses smugly, “you will never see that smile upon my face. For I cannot be betrayed. I cannot be defeated. Certainly not by the likes of you,” he scoffs.

That’s Vader’s cue for some more groveling. “I serve you, my Master.”

“Yes, and you shall serve until you die, Lord Vader,” Sheev cackles. “Soon this insignificant Rebellion will be put down. The Sith shall rule unopposed once more. And then, yet again my power will grow. I am close, so close to a breakthrough, Apprentice. That is what this disturbance in the Force portends, I’m sure of it.”

Whatever. So long as Sheev doesn’t sense Luke Skywalker on the Light Side, then he can play around with his archaic Sith spells, alchemy, and incantations as much as he wants. Whatever the Dark Side is cooking up, hopefully it will obscure his son’s emergence onto the scene for as long as possible. So bring on whatever Dark craziness Sheev is sensing, Vader thinks to himself.

A true Sith would find that lack of faith disturbing, but Vader doubts he has ever been a true Sith. Sure, his body count is respectable, he’d dearly love to murder his Master, and he’s always craved power. But not for himself. And that’s the key. A true Sith is selfish. They care about themselves, not the aims of the Force or the greater good. Vader has never managed to fit that paradigm and he knows he never will. He might have been a lousy Jedi, but he’s also a lousy Sith. But Hell, he’s the Chosen One, so he’s fine with it. Neither category fits him and that’s the point.

Vader stoically listens to Sheev berate him some more. Then, Sheev moves on to pontificate about the pursuit of power and his preeminent place in the history of the Sith. How he will surpass Darth Vitiate in sorcery and as a statesman. How like Darth Bane he will remake the Sith anew. How he will make Sion, Nihilus, Malgus, and the rest of the Old Sith Empire heroes look like pussies with red lightsabers. Sheev does all but beat his chest for emphasis. But all Vader hears beneath these proud words is deep seeded insecurity and fears for his legacy. As weird as it seems, in moments like these, Vader strongly senses that his Master is afraid of him. And that doesn’t make sense.

Thankfully, in barges Lady Sidious on clicking high heels to end the interview. She’s a tiny woman, but she’s all loud voice and loud clothes, as usual. “Sheev? Sheeeev? Are you in here?” she brays. She knows perfectly well he’s in here. Who else sits on a throne in the Imperial palace?

She glances over at him. “Oh, hi. How are you, Ani?” She’s the only one left alive who calls him ‘Ani.’ And she tends to mother him just like every woman who has ever called him Ani.

“Not now,” Lord Sidious growls at his interrupting wife. The woman is never seen in public and seldom seen in private, and yet she exerts an outsize influence over his Master. She might be his one redeeming quality, Vader considers.

They begin bickering, as usual. “Wrap it up,” Lady Sidious growls back. “Mas sent me in here because you’re late for hair and makeup for your holonet interview.”

“Let them wait,” Sheev decrees. “I don’t need to look pretty.”

“If you want time for your guys to edit and preapprove the tape before it airs on prime time, you need to wrap this up. Give Ani his marching orders and be done,” Lady Sidious orders, just as imperiously as her spouse. She shoots Vader a wink—she’s always liked him even if the feeling is not mutual—before she tells Sheev, “He’s heard enough for today. Save it for next time he’s in town. He needs to be off chasing Rebels or Senator Mothma’s going to be sitting on that throne.”

And that ends that. Sheev’s trashy Underworld wife is the only person in the galaxy who gets the last word over Emperor Palatine. And that’s a good thing. The unacknowledged Lady Sidious might be a political liability with her sleazy profession and thoroughly down market first impression, but she’s very smart. Very little gets past that woman.

Next, Vader takes two perfunctory economic briefings during which he largely indulges in lurid fantasies of his upcoming night with Astral. He’s like a randy teenage Padawan where she is concerned. Then he and the rest of the Imperial inner circle congregate back at the palace to watch the broadcast of Sheev’s folksy holonet interview.

His Master began the day with doom and gloom rhetoric from the podium, but his one-on-one conversation is vintage Senator Palpatine. The man knows how and when to turn on the grandfatherly charm, with equal parts wise reassurance and gentle chiding tough love. This is the demeanor he perfected in his decades of public life during which he was required to be elected. It’s the public face that most in the galaxy admire and trust. It’s also the well-honed act that duped young Anakin Skywalker many years ago. Just watching it now makes Vader angry at what a fool he was all over again.

He sees now how slowly and expertly Sheev had lured him. It was a mix of attention, encouragement, and flattery. All because Darth Sidious was determined to control the Chosen One. He succeeded. The man is a master at manipulation. It makes Vader fear for the fate of his son. He can see it now: Sheev will stoke the boy’s anger at his father. For his abandonment, for the fate of his mother, for the fate of Owen and Beru Lars, for the fate of Obi-Wan, and for the excesses of the Empire that are routinely ordered by Sheev but publicly blamed on Darth Vader. It will be hard to refute Sheev’s wiles because . . . well, most of it is true. But true facts do not comprise the whole truth. Motives matter. Nuance matters. Context matters, too. Truth is distressingly malleable and highly dependent on your point of view. But high on Dark power with Sheev egging him on, young Luke Skywalker probably won’t see any of that. He’ll just lust to kill. And that’s yet another demoralizing thought.

Finally, the congratulatory happy talk of Sheev’s cronies is over. The sycophants declare this Empire Day the best ever. The group adjourns to the fancy banquet dinner held annually at the palace. That is Vader’s cue to disappear next door. Darth Vader cannot eat in public and that gets him a pass for tonight.

So, with a rare spring in his step, he heads for his quarters for Astral. In her arms tonight, he will briefly forget that he is a monster whose face would scare children. That he is the ruthless bogeyman the whole galaxy is conditioned to fear. Vader takes gleeful pleasure in making love to a woman who urges him to treason right next door to Sheev’s palace. Vader would never act on those ambitions—he values his life too much to throw it away—but he appreciates Astral’s support anyway. It’s the ego boost he needs right now. So what does the Force have in store for him? And for Luke Skywalker? And what change does Sheev sense coming? Vader doesn’t know. But tonight, he can forget all that with Astral.

All too soon, it is morning and they must part.

“When will I see you again?” Astral asks.

“I’ll make some excuse to get back here next month,” he replies. “Vanee will contact you.”

“So long?” She looks disappointed. Vader is quickly realizing that Astral’s reticence is not for pursuing their relationship so much as it is for giving their relationship a formal label. It’s the legacy of her failed marriage, he suspects.

But he can’t get back here any sooner. “Sheev just told the galaxy that he’s going to bring the Rebels to justice. That puts more pressure on me to find them. That mission is my first priority.” And, luckily, it’s also a good cover for his private mission to find his son.

Astral raises that issue again herself now. “You find that pilot and you kill him,” she tells him with uncharacteristic harshness. “I don’t care about the Force. I care about you. And if he’s gone, you’re safe,” she reasons. Because, of course, Astral doesn’t know what’s she is asking of him.

This is the moment to reveal the pilot’s identity. To tell the truth of his conundrum. To confess his worst fears for his son. And also, to share his biggest hopes. But Vader resists. The fewer people who know this secret, the best for all involved.

“Leave him to me,” he replies. Then, Vader kisses goodbye his girlfriend who refuses to be his girlfriend and heads off to war yet again.

It’s harder to leave her than he lets on. For he is weary, oh so very weary of this dissatisfying life he has convinced himself to accept. He has invested twenty years in Sheev’s Empire, shoring it up and keeping it together. But his heart’s no longer in it. Part of Vader wants to cheer on the Rebels, not hunt them down. Because now that Astral has appeared and his long-lost son has surfaced, Vader wants more. He wants better. He’s tired of going through the motions because he has no alternative. Last night’s talk of treason has stuck with him. It has rekindled old ambitions, re-envisioned for the new opportunities Luke and Astral present. And try as he might to tamp down that foolishness, it takes hold and burrows deep. Because more and more lately—even though he knows better--Darth Vader thinks that he’s had enough.


	17. chapter 17

It’s the end of a long day at the end of a long week when Astral pulls her speeder up to the private terrace of her apartment. The past few days have been a fever pitch of lead up in preparation for next week’s big bi-annual sale of contemporary sculpture. Tonight was the pre-party reception for buyers to view the offered works in advance. Monday morning it all goes up for auction, hopefully for high prices that will net the auction house big commissions and help Astral earn a year-end bonus.

But for now, her work is done. Astral shuts off the speeder and climbs out, ducking back in to grab her discarded cloak, purse, and work bag from the passenger seat. She’s on autopilot performing the same routine she does every night. Head down and stifling a yawn, Astral marches for the terrace door. She’s fumbling blindly for her security key when a deep voice behind her intones, “Good evening.”

Astral jumps, drops everything, and gives a small shriek of surprise.

“Do not be afraid,” the voice chides with amusement as she whirls.

It’s Prince Venamis, the reclusive rich guy who had lent the museum the Clone Wars paintings for the ill-fated exhibit. This is the man who showed Astral his extensive art collection in his country villa. Tonight, he’s dressed like the prince he is in rich formal robes. He has a hood pulled down to shield his features partially, but Astral would recognize him anywhere. From his extreme height to his distinctive facial deformities, he is a very memorable fellow. But what is he doing here??

“Do not be afraid,” he tells her a second time as Astral blinks at him in confusion.

“Prince,” she recovers, breathing out a hasty greeting. Astral reflexively raises a hand to smooth her hair and straighten her dress. She’s a bit rumpled from her long work day and the flight home. Plus, she wasn’t expecting a guest. “This is a surprise.”

“A happy one, I hope.” The towering man with the ruined face now favors her with a broad, approving smile to set her at ease. He’s just as smooth as she remembers. The man has a strange charisma.

Gallant as always, the prince stoops to help her collect her fallen things. She places them on a nearby table as he explains, “I am rarely on Coruscant these days, but I thought I would look in on a friend.”

He stands there surveying her somewhat expectantly, so Astral politely offers, “Won’t you come in?”

He declines. “Oh, I won’t intrude. Let us remain on your terrace. On a clear evening like this, the view is so pleasing.” He turns a bit to look out at the twinkling Upper Level cityscape. “I love this part of the city. Long ago, I used to live three buildings over. So, you might say this is my old stomping grounds.”

“Then, welcome home,” Astral smiles, still feeling a bit befuddled about this most unusual visitor at this late hour. But the prince got her a job at the auction house and he’s a valued customer, so Astral feels she should be especially nice even if this impromptu meeting feels highly unusual and vaguely threatening. “Are you in town for the sculpture auction?” she asks to make conversation.

“Regrettably, no. This is a very quick trip. I must be careful not to linger here.” The prince now laments, “Alas, a true Coruscant homecoming is not yet possible. But one day, I wish to return to reclaim what is rightfully mine. And for that, I need your help.”

“My help?” she echoes.

“Yes. Merely a small favor,” he assures her.

Astral doubts that. But mindful of who this man is, she dutifully solicits, “How may I be of assistance?”

The prince reaches into a pocket to produce a datafile. He proffers it over with a graceful flourish of clawed fingers. “Give this to the pilot.”

Astral looks at the datafile and then back at the prince. “The p-pilot?” she stammers. 

“Yes. The one you rescued after the terror attack. The injured one who you brought to Coruscant.” He slants her a knowing look. “That was the story, right?”

Does he refer to Lord Vader? But how could the prince know that she helped Lord Vader? Suddenly, Astral can feel her heartbeat quicken. She improvises quickly. “I’m afraid that I haven’t seen that pilot—“

“Since you spent two nights with him two weeks ago?” the Prince finishes softly. “Here at his Coruscant palace?”

How does he know that? Inwardly, Astral starts to panic. She feels her face flame hot with embarrassment. Flustered, she begins anew. “I’m not sure who you mean—“

“Oh, I think you do.” The prince steps forward now to loom over her as he instructs, “Don’t be coy, my dear. It doesn’t suit you.”

Now, her heart is truly racing. “What is this?” she demands, staring hard at the object in his open palm. It’s right beneath her nose.

“It’s a datafile.”

Obviously. “What’s on it?”

“The most dangerous thing a person can confront,” the prince purrs. “The truth.”

Now who’s being coy? “The truth of what?” she presses.

“The truth of the Rebel pilot who destroyed the Death Star.”

Oh. Ooooh. Astral gulps. This is information about the man with the Force who Lord Vader first wanted to kill but now inexplicably wants to protect. 

“I believe he is the number one fugitive on the Imperial most wanted list, is he not?” the prince goads. “Surely, your pilot will want to find him?”

Astral nods, looking at the innocuous looking datafile, wondering if it truly contains such dangerous information. She is especially wary now. Fearful that she will do or say something that will betray too much.

“Take it,” the prince orders.

She complies mostly out of fear. “How did you get this information?” 

The prince is vague and smug. “I have my ways,” he answers. Then, he is stern. “Give it to the pilot and only to the pilot. Not to his staff, not to his servants, not to anyone but the pilot. Trust no one but the pilot. This is for his eyes only. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really?” the prince persists. Pointing to the datafile now resting in her open palm, he alludes to what Astral already knows. “This truth is a deadly truth. Your pilot could die for it. You could too.” The prince peers appraisingly at her now as he asks softly, “Tell me, do you know why?”

She does. Trembling Astral chooses her words carefully. “The Rebel pilot is a threat.”

“All Rebels are a threat to the Empire.”

“This Rebel is a special threat,” she amends, trying to avoid saying the words ‘he has the Force’ out loud. She’s going to give as little away as possible. Especially the bit about how Lord Vader fears he might become his replacement.

“Uhmmmm, yes . . . yessss . . . “ the prince concludes as he peers at her. Astral has the uncomfortable feeling that he can see right through her. That he knows what she is thinking. But he looks satisfied. “Good. I’m glad you understand the situation. The need for secrecy cannot be underestimated.” 

If—and that’s a big ‘if’—this information is even true, Astral thinks. Somehow, this all feels like a setup. Like a devious trick. Like someone at the palace knows that the Rebel pilot has the Force and is plotting against Lord Vader. What this art dealing alien prince has to do with it is anyone’s guess, but Astral refuses to aid and abet whatever scheme is afoot. She’s no fool. 

So, she takes a deep breath and thrusts her open hand back at him. “I don’t want this. Take it back.” She will not be duped into betraying Lord Vader. She will not enable this trap.

The prince rebuffs her gently. “If you wish to help the pilot, if you truly care for him, you will give it to him.” The prince now reaches to close her fingers around the datafile. “Give it to the pilot,” he coaxes. “You know he wants it.”

She refuses. “Give it to him yourself.”

“I cannot do that. I cannot risk that the information might not reach him directly.”

“You’re risking it with me,” Astral points out. 

“No, I’m not. I know I can trust you,” her visitor counters. 

Astral lifts her chin. “What makes you think that?”

“473 million credits worth of my paintings that you might easily have sold onto the black market for stolen art. But instead, you returned them to me. Because you are honest.”

It’s true. She has no rejoinder to that assessment.

The prince continues, “I know you are close with the pilot. I know you care for him. You will do the right thing. You always do the right thing for those who trust you. You are loyal and dependable, which makes you perfect for him . . . and for this task.”

Maybe so, but she’s no fool. Astral won’t be used. “Why should I do this?”

The prince looks her in the eye as he prods, “Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth?”

Astral looks down in confusion, blinking fast as her mind races. If this information is true, then it will definitely interest Lord Vader. But if it’s false? Well, then she may endanger herself and him. Feeling suspicious and torn, Astral looks up into the ruined face hovering over her and demands, “Why should I trust you?”

Fear has made her agitated, but the prince is calm as ever as he answers, “Our interests are aligned. We both want what’s best for the pilot.”

“And what is that?” she presses.

“I wish to liberate him.”

“From what?”

“The correct question is ‘from whom?’ My dear, I think we both know who is holding him back. It’s the same man who is holding the galaxy back. But were that impediment gone,” the prince muses slyly, “well then, all things would be possible . . . Your pilot and this Rebel hero might make a formidable duo.”

Astral says nothing. She won’t speak treason aloud. But that might not even matter. For if Astral accepts the datafile and brings it to Lord Vader, will she have de facto implicated them both in a treasonous conspiracy with Prince Venamis?

The prince now spins through the rest of the scenario for her. “As Emperor, the pilot would have the power to pardon. To forgive the Rebel’s youthful and misguided trespasses. To welcome him home and back into the fold, so to speak. And then war would be averted and a new era of peace and prosperity would begin. All will benefit in the end when that tyrant is removed. So you see, your injured pilot and I have mutual interests.”

  
“How so?” she challenges. “What’s in it for you?” She knows what Lord Vader might get out of this. But what does Prince Venamis stand to gain?

“His enemy is my enemy. And lately,” her visitor confides, “I find that I miss Coruscant. I am long overdue for a proper homecoming. Exile is exceedingly dreary after a few decades.”  


Exile . . . Astral stares hard into the prince's blue, blue eyes as she considers his choice of word. This is the man who prized the portrait of Anakin Skywalker, she recalls. Just how much does he know? And what is his true interest in Lord Vader? She can’t begin to guess, so she asks, “Who are you? Who are you really?” Because widower financiers don’t go into exile. Deposed rulers go into exile.

He deflects the question. “I have gone by many names through the years. I have many aliases. But for now, you may continue to call me ‘Prince.’”

“Who are you? What do you want?” she demands, this time more pointedly.

Again, he refuses to answer. “Tell the pilot that there is more information where that came from.” He takes his leave. “Goodnight, Ms. Sidhu.”

“W-Wait—“

“Yes?” The prince half-turns.

“How will he find you?”

“He won’t find me. Tell him not to bother to look. I will find you instead.”

“You want me to be a go-between?” she gulps. This isn’t a one-time thing?

The prince nods. “Like I told you, it’s too dangerous for me to approach him directly. I will not compromise him. It will get him killed. Plus, he trusts you. I know I can trust you too.”

The way he says it makes it sound like a done deal. It’s not. Astral balks. “I don’t want any part of this. Take it back!” Again, she offers him the datafile in her open palm.

“Don’t be afraid. I mean you no harm. I mean your pilot no harm either,” the prince soothes. “This is the best offer the pilot will ever get,” he adds.

Astral is unconvinced. She shakes her open palm vehemently at him again. “Take it back!”

But once more, he refuses. “Long have I waited for this chance. The time is ripe. So, if you will not approach him for me, then I will find someone else who will. But that has risk. Risk to him, not to me. So tell me now, Ms. Sidhu, will you force me to endanger the pilot or will you help me yourself?”

Oh, geez. When he puts it that way . . . Astral hesitates, feeling torn. This is a very dangerous position she has found herself in. She can’t decide which option is worse: to help or not to help. If she agrees, is she being a gullible fool? If she refuses, will she be putting Lord Vader in worse danger?

“Well?” The prince must see her wavering, for he urges, “Help me to help him. He’ll never do it alone. He’ll live out his days miserable under that lousy tyrant’s thumb.”

Troubled and uncertain, Astral shifts her weight as she prevaricates. “I don’t know . . .”

“He was born for greatness. Help him to achieve it all. It’s not too late,” the prince croons. His voice is low and insidious as he tells her under his breath, “He could still balance the Force . . . if you agree to help, of course.”

“I don’t know . . . “ She struggles with indecision.

“Do not stand in the way of destiny. You know what to do. Take it to him. Only to him. Trust no one or you will get yourself and him killed.”

“I don’t know . . . “ she frets again.

The prince gives her a grave look as he reminds her, “You owe me a favor, remember? It’s time to pay up, Ms. Sidhu.”

Then before she can reply, the mysterious man vanishes into thin air. Literally, one second he’s standing before her, and the next second he’s gone. Stunned Astral doesn’t know what to make of his abrupt disappearance. She looks around for him at first, pacing her small terrace. Then, she fears he was some sort of hallucination. That she is overtired and overwrought. But no, the datafile she’s holding is very real. She did not imagine that bizarre discussion. Now terribly spooked, Astral fumbles for her comlink to call Vanee.

He answers after several rings. “H-Hello?”

“Vanee, it’s Astral. Are you still up?”

“Astral, how are you—"

“Where is Lord Vader?” she interrupts, her voice panting from fear. “I must speak with Lord Vader. Now!”

There is a short pause. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes!” Something is very, very wrong and Astral isn’t composed enough to hide it. In fact, her hands are shaking so hard that she fears she might drop the comlink. But for better or for worse, she’s got the datafile now. She plans to take it to Lord Vader and let him decide what to do with it. And hopefully, he can give her some much needed advice on how to handle Prince Venamis.

“How can I help?” Vanee immediately offers.

“I need to speak with him. Only to him.” Astral is close to tears. Her voice is choked.

“He’s on his flagship. He’s lightyears away. I will contact him and you can conference by hologram—"

“No!” she declines vehemently. “In person. Please, I need to speak to him in person.”

“Tell me what’s wrong and perhaps—"

“I can’t! I’m sorry, Vanee, I wish I could tell you, but I can’t,” she whispers.

There is another pause. “I see.”

“I have important information,” she improvises, trying to say as little as possible. “It is only for Lord Vader’s ears.”

On the other end of the comlink, Astral hears Vanee sigh. “You’re pregnant?”

What?? At her age? “No! No! Vanee, why would you think that??”

“Ah . . . No reason,” he instantly backs down. “Forget I said that. So, you have information for the Master?”

“Yes! When is he back on Coruscant?”

“He has no current plans to return.”

“Can I meet him on Mustafar?”

“That’s two days travel for you and for him.”

“Then can you sneak me onto his ship?” she demands impatiently.

“Is that wise?” Vanee discourages her.

“Is it my only option to see him?”

“Yes.” 

“Then, I’m going,” Astral decides.

“Very well,” Vanee agrees. “I will summon a shuttle and I will escort you personally. The _Executor_ crew is used to me. It will make it less noteworthy if I come along.”

“Would you do that?” anxious Astral is grateful.

“Of course. How soon can get to the palace?”

“Thirty minutes?” she guesses.

“Good. We’ll leave as soon as you arrive.”

“T-Thank you,” she stammers. She is very relieved. Trust it to Vanee to come through when she needs him. “Thank you.”

“We will get it sorted out,” the old manservant assures her before he hangs up.

It’s encouragement that Astral needs to hear. She’s feeling intimidated and uncertain. How did she get herself in this position? She’s no one important. She’s just a private citizen with a workaday job and small-time aspirations for a happy, comfortable, rewarding life. She’s not looking to rule the galaxy or to influence politics. She can’t use the Force. But somehow, she finds herself mixed up in the ongoing melodrama of the galactic civil war that is brewing. Because ever since she met Darth Vader, she has been drawn into the secret world of the Sith, with its pecking order and powerplays. First, she shot an assassin to death in her bedroom at the castle. Now, she’s being stalked by an art collector who is clearly far more than he seems. Astral had taken Lord Vader’s warnings about danger seriously. But now, as yet again they come to fruition, she is very, very scared.

Adrenaline has Astral moving fast and thankfully the traffic this time of night is light. That means she makes it to the palace in twenty minutes, not thirty. Astral dutifully submits to the standard security check which is much more efficient afterhours on a Friday. Luckily, Vanee has already given instructions for her to be escorted to the landing pad to meet him. Astral is marched there by three stormtroopers. She’s cooling her heels waiting for Vanee, her mind on Prince Venamis, when a speeder pulls up. Lost in her thoughts, Astral doesn’t see the occupant jump out and march over to investigate her. Astral is far too preoccupied.

So when she hears, “Who are you?” Astral jumps. That’s twice in one night someone has snuck up on her unaware. Only this time, the words are spat out, cold and angry.

Astral turns to find a woman standing behind her, hands on her hips in the manner of a confrontation. “W-Whaat?” Astral stammers. Is the woman talking to her?

She is. “Who are you?” The angry woman is an eyeful in purple thigh high stiletto boots worn with a skintight black catsuit. She is tiny, with a lithe, ultra-petite figure that belongs to a much younger woman. For from her face, Astral guesses that she is at least a decade or so her senior. Still, she is undeniably attractive, with enviable bone structure that gives her an aristocratic, timeless beauty much at odds with the rest of her presentation.

“Answer me! Who are you?” the unknown woman demands yet again.

Astral blinks and swallows. “I’m Astral Sidhu.”

“Never heard of you. Why are you here?”

“She comes to see Vanee,” one of the security stormtroopers speaks up.

The woman raises a skeptical eyebrow. “At this hour? On the weekend?”

Again, the trooper answers. “She comes at night and leaves in the morning. Sometimes, she’s just here for a few hours.”

“To see Vanee?”

“Yes.” This time Astral answers for herself. “I’m here to see Vanee, Lord Vader’s steward.”

The woman does not immediately respond. Instead, her eyes study Astral, taking in the expensive and elegant matching cloak and dress. The minimal jewelry and designer purse without a logo. The straight posture and composed stance. Astral had dressed for an important day this morning, so her appearance is particularly formal and ladylike. But the woman’s attention somehow fixes on Astral’s hair, of all things. “You have red hair,” she observes sourly.

Astral thinks of herself as a strawberry blonde, more copper than red. She speaks up. “It only looks red in this light.”

“The fuck, it does! That’s red hair! Real red hair!” observes the strange woman whose own fiery locks are clearly not natural. She crosses her arms and gives Astral a pained look. “I guess I should be happy that you’re forty-five, and not twenty-five. But you’re still too young for him.”

Actually, she’s forty-four, Astral bristles silently. Trying to retain her dignity in the face of this rude stranger, and very mindful of the datafile in her cloak pocket that purportedly contains a deadly secret, Astral stiffens and replies in a calm, frosty voice, “Excuse me, but do I know you?”

“No. You don’t,” the older woman replies, going on the offensive again. She speaks with a quintessentially Mid Rim accent that is all long o’s and broad a’s. “But let’s get one thing straight: he’s mine!” The words come out as a hiss. “You may be the flavor of the week, but he’s mine and always will be! Every few years, one of you comes and goes, but I’m still here.”

Astral is lost in this warning speech. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“I’m Underworld, so don’t fuck with me!” the angry woman screeches back. She’s in Astral’s space now, staring up into her face, her posture threatening.

Astral takes a big step back. This is unprovoked conflict, and really, she is not in the mood for this right now.

Her retreat is none too soon because the woman now yanks a wicked looking vibroblade from her boot and flicks it on with practiced ease. She brandishes the buzzing weapon openly. Yikes! Astral blinks at how fast this situation has escalated. She takes another big step back.

Amazingly, none of the stormtroopers surrounding them has made a move. They all stand around like bystanders watching this deranged woman who has pulled a deadly weapon. This is the landing pad at the Imperial palace—an ultra-secure area—and yet the risk this woman poses is apparently acceptable. What is the matter with these guys? Why don’t they do something??

“Don’t fuck with me, bitch, because I will make you pay!” the woman howls, stamping her little foot for emphasis.

Astral turns to the troopers for help. “What’s going on—“

It’s just as Vanee sweeps in. He’s moving very fast, at a near run. “Astral!” he bellows as he very intentionally inserts himself between her and the crazy woman with the vibroblade.

“Vanee—watch out, she’s got a knife!” Astral yelps.

Vanee ignores her warning. Instead, he bows deeply before the troublemaker like he’s being presented to the Empress. “My Lady.”

Lady? Lady?? This woman is no lady in Astral’s estimation.

“Always a pleasure, my Lady,” Vanee trills lightly as if this is a social meeting and no one’s holding a weapon.

The aggressive woman is not impressed. “Cut the crap, Vanee,” she snaps. “Come clean. Who is she here to see?”

Vanee smiles back as he responds, “Me. Ms. Sidhu is here to see me. We are good friends.”

“I said cut the crap!” the woman growls. And now, she’s got the buzzing knife in Vanee’s face. 

Incredibly, the stormtroopers still do nothing, peeved Astral notices.

“Alright, then,” Vanee amends quickly, “Astral is here to see me so that I can conduct her to Lord Vader.”

“Vader’s not here, so drop the act! Tell me the truth!” The crazy lady is still waving the knife, but she looks far less angry now than she looks hurt, Astral assesses. There are tears glittering in her eyes, she sees. Astral is still very lost in what’s going on, but it’s clear that Vanee feels the need to placate the aggressive woman.

“It’s true, my Lady,” Vanee comes clean. “I’m taking Astral to meet Lord Vader.”

“Liar! Do you think I was born yesterday? He didn’t think I was coming by tonight, so he thought he could get you to procure him—“

“No one is procuring anyone!” Astral huffs. She’s offended by the very notion. Really, what does this woman take her for?

Vanee shoots Astral a quelling ‘shut up and let me handle this’ look as he again argues softly to the provoking stranger, “My Lady, you have misunderstood. Truly, you have.”

The woman considers a moment. Then she tosses her improbably long, improbably red hair in a gesture of annoyance. “We’ll see about that.” Still waving the knife, she threatens, “If I catch her here again, she will regret it. You too, Vanee. I will make you regret it if you are procuring him redheads.”

“My Lady—“ Vanee is conciliatory again.

“Don’t test me!” her response is shrill and imperious. “Tell Milo it’s the same for him!”

“Very well, my Lady.” Vanee bows even lower this time before he grabs Astral’s hand firmly and hustles her away towards an idling shuttle waiting on the far side of the landing pad.

“What just happened?” Astral demands as she struggles to keep up.

“Keep going. Don’t look back. Let her think she won.”

“Who was that woman?” Astral demands under her breath.

“Lady Sidious.”

“Lady Sid—whaat?” Astral nearly chokes. “Wait--he has a wife?? The Emperor actually has a wife?”

“Yes. A wife of many years who is kept behind the scenes for all the reasons you just saw.”

“Wow . . . Who knew?” Curious Astral can’t help it. Her head reflexively turns back to peep at the older woman who watches them leave. From the expression on her face, suspicious Lady Sidious is fuming. 

“Don’t look back!” Vanee growls as he tightens his grip and yanks her along.

“Sorry,” Astral gulps. “I just never knew—"

“Not many do. Lord Plagueis did all he could to get rid of her, but Lord Sidious refused to give her up. It was a long simmering conflict between them. One of many.”

“So, she’s the Empress?” Astral whispers in slight horror.

“Unofficially.” Vanee does not mince words in his own scathing assessment. “She’s dreadful. Lord Plagueis was right that she is wholly unsuitable to be the first lady of the galaxy. Lord Sidious knows it too, or he would have revealed her long ago. That woman is notorious in the Underworld.”

“Oh,” Astral reacts. “Yes, I could see how she’s not the usual politician’s wife.” Astral can’t imagine the bold woman she just met standing appropriately attired to smile blandly at the camera bots at public events. Nor can she envision her every so often casting her Emperor husband an adoring look of reverence. Lady Sidious strikes Astral as more likely to swear at Lord Sidious than to admire him demurely. Astral cannot contain her lurid curiosity now. “Is she always so violent?”

“Actually, no. But she’s very protective of her husband. In her own way, she’s just as paranoid as Lord Sidious.”

“Oh.”

“She owns most of the brothels on Coruscant and she’s in deep with organized crime. She’d be in jail if she weren’t Lord Sidious’ lady. If you’ve ever wondered why the Empire doesn’t bother to clean up the Underworld, she’s why. She makes millions of credits off all that vice and spice. Lord Plagueis considered her to be an embarrassment.”

“Oh.”

“Keep walking.” They are almost at the shuttle. “Let’s get on board. You can strap yourself in while I talk to the pilot.”

“Where are we going?” Astral asks as they quickly climb the ramp.

“He’s not far. It’s only a two or three hour flight. The Master is the Kuat system picking up his new starfighter. His old one was destroyed by the Death Star blast so he ordered a new one.”

“He does that himself?” Astral is surprised.

The manservant nods. “The Master takes his spacecraft very seriously. They are highly customized to his exact specifications. Lord Vader delegates many things, but not his own personal TIE fighter.”

“I see.”

They are inside the shuttle now. Vanee conducts her to a seat. Then he eyes her meaningfully. He looks troubled. “You’re sure that this information merits an in-person meeting?”

Astral nods. “Absolutely.”

“This had better be worth it,” Vanee speaks plainly. “I just outed you to Lady Sidious and now you’ll be arriving to the _Executor_. Astral, if you weren’t a potential target before, you will be now.” He warns, “It is a very dangerous thing to be known as Lord Vader’s lady.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to deny that she is Lord Vader’s lady. But who is she kidding? Astral just silently nods.

“The danger is not just from the Rebels,” Vanee tells her flatly. “The Master has many enemies.”

Yes, she’s beginning to realize that. The danger is from whoever Prince Venamis actually is, and from the Emperor’s behind-the-scenes wife who just pulled a knife on her, and from the Rebel terrorists and everyone else who has a political or personal grudge against Lord Vader. Whether Astral has a personal involvement in the conflict or not, she knows she could easily be swept up in the crossfire. Because these are the sort of people who have no scruples about hurting bystanders, she suspects.

“Are you sure you don’t wish for me to deliver the message alone?” Vanee offers. “It might lessen the risks to you.”

Astral fingers the datafile stowed safely in her cloak pocket. It purports to contain secrets about the Rebel pilot who could help Darth Vader overthrow the Emperor and bring balance to the Force. Secrets that could mean no more Death Stars and no more wars. Secrets that could bring justice for Alderaan. “It’s worth it,” she declares staunchly. And Lord Vader is worth it, too, she decides. Besides, she doubts very much that it would do any good to back out now.


	18. chapter 18

He’s in the Kuat system, but his star destroyer, like the entire Imperial fleet, keeps Coruscant time. That means Astral shows up in the middle of the night with Vanee. All things considered, that’s the best possible time for her to sneak onboard the _Executor_ with the least amount of fuss.

There’s clearly been fuss back at Coruscant, however. Vanee has already sent ahead a message briefing him on Astral’s run-in with Lady Sidious. If his Master didn’t already know about Astral, he does now. Vader sighs. Whatever has brought her here, it had better be worth it.

When finally they are in private, Astral throws back the hood of her elegant cloak to reveal tired eyes, a pale face, and trembling lips. There’s no mention of the argument with Sheev’s wife. Astral instead recounts a slightly jumbled tale of a late-night visitor who handed her a datafile to give to him. Vader listens to Astral’s stream of consciousness recollections of a stilted conversation proposing treason. It all smacks of danger and of intrigue, of the Force and of fate. No names were used, of course. It was all euphemisms and vagaries. Except for the subject matter of the datafile—that bit was very specific. The datafile contains information concerning the Rebel pilot who blew up the Death Star.

That gets Vader’s attention.

It is the perfect lure. As Astral keeps talking, Vader can’t stop his eyes from wandering to the datafile that she holds in her right hand. He lusts for that datafile. He is distracted with thoughts of what might be on that datafile. Vader can’t get enough information on Luke Skywalker. He has memorized every image and scrap of data contained in the sparse Intel file Captain Groat cobbled together. That makes the promise of fresh information all the more beguiling. Whatever this conspiracy may entail, he is very ready to take this bait.

“This could be a trap,” Astral wisely concludes. Inexperienced though she is at palace intrigue, she’s no fool.

Vader immediately agrees. “Yes.”

“Then, what do we do?” She looks to him with trusting eyes.

“We spring the trap,” Vader answers automatically. “Come,” he shepherds Astral into his meditation chamber. It’s a far smaller version of the one in his Coruscant palace. But it’s the most secure location on his ship and it’s the only place Vader will risk opening that datafile.

“Did I do the wrong thing?” Astral frets as she climbs inside. “I didn’t know what to do. I worried that if I refused, things would be worse.”

“It’s fine,” he reassures her yet again. She’s so worried about betraying him. But Astral would never consciously betray him, he knows. She was in a no-win situation. She made the right choice to at least appear to go along with her visitor’s wishes. Once Vader sees what’s on that datafile, he will determine how to proceed. He would rather that Astral not be dragged into this mess, but it looks like there is no avoiding it now.

Vader starts booting up his charging datapad as he removes his helmet. “Tell me how you know the guy again?” he prompts. Vader is as skeptical as Astral is, but he’s intrigued all the same. He can’t decide if he has a good or a bad feeling about this.

“He owned the paintings that I borrowed for the museum exhibit. The ones I returned after I left the castle.”

“How did he know that you are connected to me?” That’s the important part. Where is the breach in his security? Who is betraying his private life to the highest bidder? Vader needs to plug that leak fast.

Astral is no help, however. “I don’t know. I never met the prince until the day I brought the artwork back. I gave him a story about the freighter with the paintings being temporarily impounded after we were diverted to Coruscant to deliver an injured Imperial pilot we rescued from the wreckage.”

“Did he buy it?”

“I think so. He told his lawyer and the insurance inspectors to accept the paintings back with no questions asked. He seemed genuinely happy to have them recovered. He told me that his favorite piece is the portrait of y—I mean, the Jedi general. He knew all about y—I mean, the Jedi general.”

Vader doesn’t like the sound of that. This whole scenario reeks of trouble on so many levels. “This is the same guy who recommended you for your job, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And you had never met him before that day?”

“Never,” she confirms. “We did all the arrangements for the exhibit through his representatives. The museum did some investigating, of course. My Lord, the prince checked out. He purported to be a wealthy financier who became a recluse after his family was killed and he was injured in an accident. He is known to be a major collector of contemporary works. I saw his art myself at his villa. Everything was top notch.”

“Did you see him again before tonight?”

“No.”

“He’s human?”

“Humanoid. I don’t know his species. He’s very disfigured. That sort of makes him hard to place.”

“Tell me,” Vader presses. He wants to know everything he can about this guy.

“His face is very damaged. He’s missing an ear and part of his jaw. He has a huge scar running down the middle of his forehead. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it looks like someone split his skull and stabbed his face. He’s . . . well, he’s . . .” Astral abruptly cringes and looks down.

So Vader supplies the words himself. “Worse than me?”

“Yes. Much worse.” Astral flushes at the comparison. “I think he might be a Muun. He’s very slim like they are, and super tall. Taller than you are, but sort of bent, too. He walks with a twisted limp. It’s kind of painful to watch,” she recalls aloud. “I guess the rest of him must be as damaged as his face . . .”

“Tell me more.”

“I haven’t seen many Muuns, but aren’t they grey skinned? The prince has blue eyes and his skin isn’t really grey. But maybe that’s a result of the accident?” she theorizes. “I mean, I don’t know . . . he’s a little hard to look at,” she squirms.

“Like me?”

“He’s worse than you,” Astral declares staunchly again. “Far worse. And you know that I don’t even see that anymore, right? Right?”

She’s cheerleading, but he mostly believes her sentiment. Astral Sidhu has no guile. “Right.”

“I wish I could be more specific but, well . . . I didn’t want to stare.”

Vader grunts. He remembers her staring plenty the first time she removed his mask.

“Come to think of it,” Astral recalls, “he was wearing a hooded cloak when I saw him last night. It pretty much covered his face. It reminded me of what I saw the Emperor wearing. Honestly, it was more like a shroud than a cloak.”

That’s not a helpful fact. None of the details Astral has relayed are encouraging, as far as Vader is concerned. But he keeps prompting her for more facts. “So, he got you the job?”

“Yes. He said it was a good deed. Sort of like a reward for returning his art.”

Vader nods knowingly. “That’s how he knew where you live. It would have been easy to follow you home from work. And it makes you feel indebted because if he got you the job, he can take it away.”

“He did say that I owed him a favor,” Astral recalls. Her face is bleak as she relives the interview. “I was so scared. He was polite. He never once raised his voice or threatened me. He kept telling me that he meant me no harm and he called me a friend,” she remembers. “But still . . . he was terrifying. So intense. So creepy. And then, he disappeared! Into thin air,” she still looks baffled over that event.

Again, Vader nods knowingly. “He was probably never really there.”

“But I saw him!” Astral protests. “He was as close as you are now!”

“You saw a Force projection,” Vader corrects.

“A what?”

“It’s an old trick and a good one. A hard one, too. It takes great power to project in the Force. It’s a lot like Force healing. If you’re not careful, you can accidentally kill yourself.”

She’s confused. “So, you’re saying that---?”

“He caused you to see him as a vision in the Force. He was very likely halfway across the galaxy the whole time. Safely away from Coruscant.”

“No, he wasn’t. He was real!” she huffs. “I touched him when he handed me the datafile. He helped me pick my bag off the ground. He was real! Like that datafile is real!” Astral is utterly convinced and that speaks volumes. Whoever this guy is, Vader thinks, he must be accomplished because his projection was very good.

Reminding himself that Astral knows very little of the Force, Vader explains, “He had to have been projecting. A Force user that powerful wouldn’t risk coming to Coruscant. Sheev might sense him.” Vader thinks a moment about how things ended between Astral and the prince. “He didn’t have to leave like that, but he did. And then, he sent you to me. To tell me that you saw him disappear.” That was no accident, Vader suspects.

“I don’t get it.”

“He wants me to know that he is a Force user.” A very powerful Force user.

“Oh.”

“Just like he wants me to know that he can find you. He knows where you live and where you work. It’s an implicit threat. And a good one,” Vader grumbles. From his mother to Padme, the women in his life have always been his weakness.

“Oh.”

“He knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t have to get to me directly. He can control me through you. He can contact me through you.” It’s classic Sith manipulation.

But when Astral hears the word ‘Force,’ she like everyone else in the galaxy thinks ‘Jedi.’ “So you’re saying that the prince is really a secret Jedi?” she squeaks.

That would make things simpler. But it’s the least likely answer, Vader decides. “I know all the most powerful Jedi left alive and none of them meet his description.”

Astral argues back, “He spoke of that Jedi prophecy you told me about. You know—the one about balancing the Force. He said it isn’t too late. That he can help you—“

“I’ll bet,” Vader responds with withering sarcasm. “Let me guess--we team up with the Rebel pilot to take out Sheev and then we turn on each other? Allies of convenience until we revert to being enemies? If he’s even a Jedi,” and all facts suggest otherwise, Vader worries.

Astral nods along. “But if he’s not a Jedi, then—“

“That just leaves Sith,” Vader finishes glumly. It’s the worst answer to the mystery of who this fictional Prince Venamis actually is. Because the mostly likely candidate for a leftover Sith still hanging around is Lord Sidious’ old Master. The dead one who could supposedly cheat death for others but not himself.

Astral frowns. “But I thought there were only two of you at any given time. A Master and an Apprentice, right?”

Vader smirks hard at that naïve contention. “The Sith Rule of Two is often honored in breach. Maul was still alive for years when I became the Apprentice.”

“Maul? Who is Maul?” Astral blinks.

“Darth Maul is perhaps the first Sith Lord ever to retire. After he was injured, he went into a life of crime. Then, he changed his mind and wanted his old job back, but Sheev turned him down. Maul is dead now. Killed by a Jedi.”

“Oh. Well, are there any more of you guys rattling around?” Astral asks.

“Apparently so,” Vader sighs. And this is the last thing he needs—some Dark Sider to surface and start meddling. Looking to sow discord between him and Sheev. Looking to stoke a war to create upheaval and distrust. Looking to lure Luke Skywalker to be his Apprentice so together they can take on the duo of Sidious and Vader. Whoever this guy is, he’s clearly a foe to be reckoned with. And Vader seriously doubts that he’s going to fade away quietly back into the Unknown Regions or wherever he’s come from.

How the Hell did this prince guy know to get to him through Astral? Their meeting was by chance and romance was never the goal. In fact, when Astral left him at the castle, she had vehemently declined a relationship going forward. And yet, here they are. Intimates and confidantes. Co-conspirators now, too. But this prince couldn’t have known that would happen. When the prince got her the job at the auction house, he and Astral had already gone their separate ways. Moreover, this all started with the museum exhibit Astral began planning three years ago. No one could have inferred that her trip to ferry the artwork to Alderaan would be interrupted by the Death Star and lead to a chance meeting with him. Even the best seers—Dark or Light—couldn’t foresee all those coincidences. Visions are rarely so specific. So either this prince guy is extremely powerful or he’s very lucky. And because there’s no such thing as luck, if it’s the latter, then the Force is with him.

It’s a sobering thought.

But before Vader can determine the next step, he needs to understand what he stands to gain from all of this. And it had better be good, because the risks are daunting. Vader turns expectantly to Astral. “Let’s see what he gave you.”

She hands over the datafile. But then, she thinks better of it. “Wait. Do you think it’s safe? What if it blows up or something?”

Vader shrugs as he inspects it. “It looks fine to me. You’ve watched too many holonet movies,” he chides. Plus, nothing is going to stop him from looking at this datafile.

It loads and opens to a picture of a small child smiling up at a young woman who holds his hand and smiles back. They are walking through one of the local desert townships, looking very much like the Outer Rim residents they are. The woman has a pleasant smile and a corona of braided hair. She’s wearing a rough homespun dress topped by a vest. The boy wears a baggy shirt and pants. Even at this tender age of three or four years, he wears tall boots. It keeps out the sand, Vader remembers. He hated sand as a child.

Curious Astral peers over his shoulder and frowns at what she sees. “That’s not a pilot. Or wait—is the pilot a she? Is it the mom in the picture?”

“The pilot is the boy.”

“Well, then this is useless.” Tired Astral sounds very annoyed. “What do you want with baby pictures of the pilot? The prince said this would show you truth. How is this going to help you find that pilot?” she complains.

“It won’t and it’s not supposed to. It’s supposed to whet my appetite for more. He knows I want this. Look at the date on that photo—it’s over sixteen years old,” Vader does the math. And, fuck. That’s a whole new wrinkle on the mystery of this art-loving prince. Because whoever he is, he hasn’t come late to the party. In fact, he might have been the first to arrive. “He’s known all along,” Vader surmises. “Fuck!” the curse slips out. Mostly because everything about Luke Skywalker and the brutal past he raises stresses Darth Vader out. “He knows . . . he’s always known . . . ” It turns out that this secret Skywalker on Tatooine wasn’t so secret after all.

“Knows what?” Astral isn’t following. “Look, he said we could get killed over this. But who kills over baby pictures?” she wonders aloud peevishly.

Darth Vader would, that’s who. “I would kill to learn this information. I will kill to protect this information.”

“Why?”

Vader doesn’t answer. He starts scrolling through the rest of the datafile. There are more photographs, chronicling the child as he matures. The date stamps on the photos increase as the boy ages. It’s clear that someone kept the child under regular surveillance for years. Here Luke sits clutching a small spaceship toy while perched on the edge of a landspeeder that has seen better days. Other pictures show him coming and going, carrying a backpack and a water bottle. He’s school age now, well into boyhood. Like children everywhere, Luke Skywalker progresses from cute to awkward. Next, he is pimpled and gawky, but later he begins to resemble a young adult. The maturation is as predictable and typical as it is galling. For in the many pictures Vader now scrolls through, all he can see is what he has missed. Years and years of a baby becoming a boy and then a young man. The chronological pictorial puts all that Kenobi stole from him in laser focus.

Through it all, the boy appears perpetually scruffy and tanned. His clothes are utilitarian, with patches and stains. In later pictures, Luke wears a utility belt with an assortment of tools and devices at the ready. He puts them to regular use, judging by the many pictures of his kid out in the hot sun repairing moisture vaporators. His brown-blonde hair is worn longish. It falls in his eyes and turns up at the back of his collar. Altogether, the impression the hardworking kid gives is vaguely unkept and disheveled. That’s nothing like how Padme would have raised their son. But flipping through the pictures, Vader is rather uncomfortably reminded of his own Tatooine upbringing. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that will give them something in common.

His rapt attention to the photographs is not lost on Astral. “My Lord, what aren’t you telling me?” she asks softly. But Vader keeps methodically scrolling through in silent fascination. He can’t look away at his son’s secret past.

Next, there are a new series of photographs that are not Luke Skywalker. It’s two grown men interacting at different times and in different places, but usually in the desert with the family homestead in the background. The younger, unfamiliar one looks angry in most of the pictures. With an aggressive stance and even a wagging finger under the nose of the other man. One photograph shows him with a threatening hand on the holstered pistol he habitually wears. “That must be Lars,” Vader decides. “That’s Kenobi,” he tells Astral as he points at the hooded figure with a lightsaber strapped to his waist.

“Who are they?” she asks blankly. If Astral has heard mention of the names before in passing, they evidently haven’t registered as significant.

But Vader doesn’t answer. Because the significance of what he is seeing has begun to register. First and foremost, Luke’s guardian didn’t get along with Obi-Wan. Hopefully, that means the boy hasn’t been trained. The less Jedi dogma his kid has been fed, the better. That’s the good news. The bad news is that whoever this prince guy is, he knows the whole story of who was hiding in the Dune Sea on Tatooine. Vader scowls as he grumbles aloud, “He knew where he was. He knew that a Jedi watched over him. And he left him there anyway.” What kind of Sith does that?

Astral isn’t following. By now Vader has scrolled to the end of the file and it has reverted back to the beginning. She now gestures over his shoulder to the picture of preschool age Luke Skywalker walking with Lars’ wife. “The kid looks happy. Look how his mom loves him,” Astral observes offhand.

“That’s not his mother. Those are not his parents.”

“Oh. Well, they look happy. Very normal,” Astral contends.

“It’s nice,” Vader has to concede as he contrasts Luke Skywalker’s life with his own humble beginnings in slavery before he was sold into the Jedi cult. “Normal is good.” Normal is more than he got. 

And maybe that’s why Luke Skywalker was left to grow up unaware. Because it looks to have been a stable, loving home. Completely obscure and unremarkable. Hidden far away from Sheev and himself. A good place for the boy to grow until he reached the age to be trained for Darkness. Because while the Jedi began their indoctrination young to keep control, the Sith tradition is to wait to train young men. Only a young man full of raging male hormones and youthful rebellion is poised to embark on his journey into Darkness.

Still unaware, Astral wonders aloud, “If things were okay for these people, then why would the kid grow up to be a terrorist?”

Vader answers, “Because Kenobi was a Jedi who filled his head with lies. And because the Empire killed that boy’s guardians looking for the Death Star plans.”

“Oh. That’s right. I remember now from your conversation with the Intel guy back at the castle.” Astral considers the endearing picture again. “He’s really cute there. He looks so innocent.”

“He is innocent.” Luke Skywalker is a victim if there ever was one, Vader suspects. Stolen from his family, raised on a backwater planet, and no doubt groomed to be a tool for the Jedi’s revenge. Force only knows what the boy has been told about his father. He will be a hostile, fearful stranger when they meet no doubt. “Look at him,” Vader whispers aloud. Even he can hear the anguish in his raspy voice. “He’s so . . . so young . . . “ So gullible, most likely. So impressionable. So . . . used.

“What aren’t you telling me, my Lord?” Astral asks again. “What truth is here? How does any of this help you find the pilot now?”

“It helps to fill in the gaps. I know some of this. Not all of this.” It’s time to come clean. Vader sits back and looks up at hovering Astral. He wanted to protect her from this knowledge, but that’s no longer possible. She needs to understand all the facts if she is to contend with this wily prince. With a deep breath, Vader reveals, “The Rebel pilot who destroyed the Death Star—the boy in those pictures--is named Luke Skywalker.”

“S-Sky—” Astral stops herself from saying that forbidden name. “That kid is your kin?” she squints at him.

Vader answers with the terrible, wonderful truth: “He’s my son.”

“Your son?” she echoes faintly. He sees her glance over his shoulder to the picture once more. “You’re sure?”

“I discovered his identity from two independent sources. And it all makes sense now. Luke Skywalker has my Force. He has my old name. And he lived with my step-brother on my homeworld watched over by my old Jedi Master. Hidden from me his entire life.”

“That’s your son?” Astral squeaks again in stunned disbelief. “Your son—Darth Vader’s son—is the Rebel fugitive?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my Gods . . . ” Astral covers her mouth with her hands. He can tell by the horrified look on her face that she gets it. She absolutely gets it. With all of the nasty implications. Sure enough, she starts connecting the dots. “The man with so much Force that you worry he will become your replacement is actually your own son?? The man who you say the Force used to strike back at the Emperor’s Death Star after Alderaan is your son?? You’re fighting your own child on opposite sides of a war?? Oh, my Lord,“ alarmed Astral exhales, “you have to find him! You have to find him and stop this manhunt! Or you may end up killing him!”

“Or Sheev will find him, and kill him first. Or use him to kill me,” Vader completes the parade of horrible outcomes. For as much as his offspring is a threat to his own position as Apprentice, Luke is also a potential long-term threat to Sheev. Because if you’re not with the Sith, you’re against them. No Force-user gets to remain neutral in the ongoing Jedi-Sith conflict. Luke Skywalker will have to choose a side.

Vader looks down, somewhat ashamed to be revealing this deadly secret. “I wanted to shield you from all this. But I can’t. Not now.” His eyes rise to hold steady on hers, his voice heavy with apology. “You’re already implicated by bringing me this datafile.”

She nods. “I knew that when I came here. My Lord, I will help,” Astral promises immediately. “The prince wants me to act as go-between. I’ll do it.”

“It’s treason,” he warns. "No trial, just an execution." The Empire’s justice is swift and harsh.

Astral nods again. Looking equal parts grim and valiant, she commits. “So be it.”

Vader smiles his appreciation, and admits his relief. “I was hoping you would volunteer.” He and Padme used to be a team like this long ago. Padme had a way of knowing what mattered most to him, whether it was urging him to abandon his mission to seek his mother on Tatooine or to disobey orders to attempt to rescue Obi-Wan on Geonosis. With Padme at his side, he was bolstered and resolved. It was only later, when they began to see things differently that their comradery faded into bickering. Now, looking at Astral's pale face full of misgivings but determined all the same, Vader realizes how much he has missed this feeling. Sex is great, but companionship is everything in a relationship. Knowing that there's someone on your side rooting for your success matters. Vader craves Astral’s reassurance that he's not alone in all of this. He realizes now that he is happy to have unburdened himself of this terrible secret.

“This is what’s been bothering you, isn’t it? This is what you wouldn't tell me on Coruscant.”

He doesn’t deny it. “I . . . I . . .” He grimaces as he has trouble expressing how he feels. Mostly because he’s a man of actions, not words. But also because the fate of Luke Skywalker dredges up all sorts of emotions. They threaten to unman him now as he feels hot tears sting at his eyes. Darth Vader may spend his days marching around issuing orders and outmanning the Imperial elite in their constant pissing match to establish a pecking order. But with Astral, he doesn’t have to put up a front. She’s seen him weak. She accepts him weak. So, he can be choked up and at a loss for words on this most difficult topic. For twenty years, he has largely ignored his lost children. But he can’t do that any longer.

Astral looks at him patiently until he blurts out, “I owe it to Padme.” After he called Astral his wife’s name in bed—a very mortifying slip of the tongue—Vader has been careful not to speak of his late wife. But be cannot avoid it now. “We parted badly. We argued. It got ugly . . ." Far uglier than he cares to confess to Astral. The guilt of harming Padme, of maybe killing her or at least contributing to her death, haunts him still. It all culminated in her death and the orphaning of his twin children. Vader cannot deny his own role in that unintended fate. It's a big reason for his obsession with saving Luke Skywalker.

"I have to find our son for Padme,” he rambles in a hoarse, whispery voice. “Astral, I can't change the past, but I can change the future . . . I hope," he gulps. "Because if Sheev finds Luke, he will kill him or worse."

"What's worse than dying?" Astral asks warily.

"He will turn him into another version of me." Vader desperately wants to avoid that result. It will doom his kid and it will continue the ongoing Dark/Light, Jedi/Sith Force war that leads nowhere but circles. His boy needs to learn the Dark Side and to embrace the whole nature of the Force. But he needs to eschew all the rest of the Sith religion. Darkness must be put in proper perspective, as should the Light. That is the only way to bring balance to the Force.

“We won’t let that happen,” Astral declares staunchly. Then, she frowns and wonders aloud the same thing he has pondered, “Why would your son keep your surname if he’s in hiding? That makes no sense.”

Vader gives the only explanation he can think of. “The Jedi hid him in plain sight. That must have been the strategy. They gambled that I either didn’t know he survived or I didn’t care.” Obi-Wan kept his surname too, come to think of it. What a lousy little plot this was. And how galling it is that such a half-ass endeavor was so effective. For twenty years, it worked.

“Oh, Astral . . . I can’t find him,” Vader now confesses miserably. His ongoing failure has Sheev breathing down his back and his own fears heightened. “I have no leads. We have probes and spies in most every system and we can’t find any trace of him. Every now and then, we find a Rebel. But they always die in interrogation. Or they kill themselves before they can be captured.”

“We’ll find him,” Astral cheerleads loyally.

“How?” Vader demands, giving vent to months of pent up frustration. “I have the entire Imperial Navy at my disposal and we have nothing to go on!”

Astral argues back, “We have the prince. He knows way more than he’s letting on. I’m sure he knows who you are . . . er . . . were. And he’s known where Luke has been for years. He wouldn’t care who that boy was if he didn’t appreciate his significance,” Astral reasons. “And if he wanted Luke dead, he would have made a move years ago.”

She’s right, of course. But Vader can’t help but bemoan the complexity of the situation. “Even if I do find him, Luke will hate me. For what happened to our family. For what happened to the Jedi. For what happened to Obi-Wan. And that’s not even addressing the politics between us,” Vader groans. He’s whining, but he can’t help it. He is anxious, so very anxious about this situation. And that’s not him. He’s ruthless and detached as a rule. The coolest head in every battle. The most calculating of commanders. But somehow, nothing stresses him out like Luke Skywalker.

“That may all change if Luke knows who you are,” Astral asserts. She fixes him with a stern look. “Who you really are. My Lord, you’re not who you appear to be on the holonet—”

“He won’t know that.”

“Then, you will have to make him understand. My Lord, we will find a way to help your son. To make him appreciate your true perspective.” She fixes him with a pointed look. “Darth Vader is not who the public thinks he is.”

He nods. Yes, that’s the plan. “I have to at least try.” He owes it to Padme to try to reconcile with their boy. And if that can’t be done, perhaps he can at least protect Luke from Sheev. Pulling himself together, Vader sheepishly wipes at one wet eye and repeats, “I have to at least try.”

“He’s the only family you have left. You have to do more than try,” Astral chides softly. “So, what do we do now?”

Vader exhales glumly, knowing that the best path forward is the one he would rather not take. “We wait for your prince to return,” he decides. That will put a lot of pressure on Astral. It’s risk he’s not sure she fully appreciates. Frankly, he’d feel a lot better if it was Padme acting as go-between. His wife had years of self-defense and combat training during her years as queen. She knew how to handle a blaster. She had more than one occasion to use one. In fact, Padme Amidala was far more likely to run into danger than to run from it. That meant his wife was far more equipped than Astral is to deal with it. Sending this art historian to negotiate with a maybe-Sith Lord feels like sending a lamb to the slaughter. But hopefully, it will only be a few meetings. Vader plans to remove Astral from the middleman position as soon as possible.

“What do I tell him?”

“I want more information. I want to know who he is, what he wants, and what he knows about Luke.” Vader plans to play hard to get in order to get the prince to reveal more. “Be careful not to reveal anything or to commit to anything. We will make him convince me, which will force him to do the talking.”

“Okay,” she nods along.

“Astral, don’t trust him. Whatever you do, don’t trust him.” She needs to heed this warning for both their sakes. “Never trust a Sith.”

“But I trust you.”

“That’s different,” Vader grumbles.

She smiles back. “I know.”

Those two words speak volumes about how much he and Astral understand one another. And about how much Astral appreciates the nuances of who he is and the position he finds himself in. Vader worries that if Padme were still alive, she would never be able to do that. His wife was a high-minded woman, full of cherished principles she was loath to compromise. And that’s why, even had she survived, Vader knows that they would eventually have parted.

He stops himself now. He knows needs to stop comparing the two women. But that’s hard because Padme will always be the standard by default. Still . . . his wife was far from perfect. And Force knows, he has many faults himself. But love isn’t about being perfect. In fact, love might be more about imperfections than perfections. But either way, it’s unfair to compare his wife with Astral. It’s not a competition. It’s okay, he decides, for Padme to be the right woman for his younger self and for Astral to be the right woman for him now. 

His eyes find her tired, earnest face. Astral is brave, very brave for coming to him with this datafile tonight. Has he even thanked her? He hasn’t, so he does it now. “Thank you,” he tells her with utmost sincerity as he pulls her into a hug. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“I’m glad to finally know what’s been troubling you,” she answers as she hugs back.

He resumes brooding over the new pictures of Luke Skywalker. This prince fellow could only be a Sith, Vader concludes grimly as he scrolls through the photographs. For the Sith have an uncanny way of seeing into your soul. Of peeking into shameful longings and repressed desires. Of recognizing your self-doubts and hidden fears. Of twisting your guilt and yet simultaneously repressing your conscience. That is what makes their manipulation so potent. Because in the end, you fall prey to their schemes willingly. You know it’s a mistake, and yet you cannot stop yourself.

That is why as a young man he knelt to pledge allegiance to Darth Sidious in his Chancellor’s office. Because saving Padme was worth any cost, even thirty scared younglings hiding in the Council chamber who thought he had come to save them. And now, older and wiser, Vader finds himself yet again falling prey to another such illusory lure. He will join the foolish treason plot of the poseur prince because saving Luke Skywalker is his paramount objective.

In this, Vader is all-in. You don’t dip your toe in the Dark Side, you surrender to it completely. And so, if need be, he will destroy the prince, he will destroy the Empire, he will destroy anything that gets in the way. He may even destroy himself and take trusting, supportive and oh-so-good Astral down too. Why? Because his boy could turn out to the man that Anakin Skywalker fell short of. Luke Skywalker could be the hero the galaxy has been waiting generations for. And then, the son’s rise could make the sins of his father worth it. Gazing at a picture of his stolen child, Vader thinks this kid could be the one saving grace for all the pain his father has both endured and caused. At long last, twenty years in, the Force presents him with the purpose Darth Vader desperately needs, the vindication he wants, and the redemption he seeks. All in the form of his long-lost son.

And so, Vader vows to protect Luke at any cost. He will do what must be done. He will not hesitate. He will show no mercy. For yet again, he will double down on Darkness. Damn, Vader laments to himself, this is why the Dark Side is such an insidious choice. Because in the end, you control your own corruption. It’s why there are no innocent Sith. You only have yourself to blame for your regrets.

Astral is standing behind where’s he seated, looking down over his shoulder. He feels her lift a hand to rest it gently on his right pauldron. “We’ll find him,” she promises softly. Vader doesn’t reply. He just lifts a gloved hand to cover hers. Finding Luke Skywalker, Vader worries, will be the easy part.


	19. chapter 19

The day is done and Astral has arrived home from work. She tosses her purse and tote on the counter, shrugs out of her jacket, and plops heavily on the couch to remove her boots. When that task is done, she looks around at her luxurious, orderly, very quiet and exceedingly empty apartment. There’s no sign of any uninvited princely visitors tonight. Her place feels especially lonely.

So she grabs the remote to switch on the holonet as she wanders into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. The nightly newsfeed begins playing. Astral pauses a moment to watch. She only pays attention to the top stories from the first five minutes. That’s always when she sees him. Sure enough, the update on the hunt for the Rebel terrorists features Darth Vader in the background. Astral watches and then rewinds to watch again. Yes, it’s just as she thought. That’s old stock news footage to accompany tonight’s report, and not new pictures. With Lord Vader, it can be hard to tell. His uniform is always the same and so are the uniforms of the troops he is pictured around. From day to day, even from year to year, the newsfeed videos of the Sith Lord can be hard to place. But by now, Astral is an expert on all Darth Vader media. So, she knows a few seconds in that there is nothing new to see here. Disappointed, she switches it off.

Is she hungry? No, not really. More like restless and pensive. So she refills her glass and heads outside to the terrace. Summer is coming, and Coruscant’s nights are warming up. It feels good to be outside barefoot in just her blouse and her slacks.

Elsewhere on this vibrant city world, lovers are meeting for dinner, friends are gathering, and families are reuniting. People are giving the ‘how was your day?’ and ‘what’s new?’ updates to those closest to them. Except for Astral. She’s alone again, wishing she wasn’t. It’s nothing new. She had these moods back on Alderaan. They were often the impetus to take another stab at dating again. But here on Coruscant, that’s not the solution. Astral isn’t looking to trade up from Lord Vader. She just wants more of him.

It’s partly her own fault. She said she wanted this arrangement. Once they reunited, Astral was determined to retain her independence and to eschew any formal commitment. Except now that she has what she said she wanted, it no longer satisfies. Because for all that she and Lord Vader are risking together, it seems like there should be more than this. Astral was afraid of risking her heart, but now she finds herself risking her life. Those stakes put things in perspective. Astral feels like she should get more than just fleeting glimpses of Lord Vader on the holonet. Especially because by now Astral knows not to believe any of what the state broadcast channel says.

But news reports are all she’ll ever get of Darth Vader on a regular basis. He’s off ruling the galaxy and chasing Rebels. According to Vanee, Lord Vader does ninety percent of the Emperor job without the title. Mostly because his boss thinks he has achieved all he needs to do as a leader. The Emperor devotes his days to worshipping Darkness, leaving Lord Vader to make all but the biggest executive decisions. Save for a few projects that Lord Vader is cut out of—like the second Death Star he’s not supposed to know about—he has broad and deep influence. It’s how Astral knows that Darth Vader subverts his Master far more than he lets on.

But that work schedule leaves little room for her. Thank goodness she’s not stuck at the castle, marooned on Mustafar with nothing to do as she waits for an opening on his calendar. At least here on Coruscant, she has a life of her own. It’s actually a very good life. But it’s a life alone. This is not how Astral would ever have envisioned being in a relationship. So much of intimacy is the day-to-day stuff. Without that, things can feel distant because, well, they are.

At a time when you can have near instant communications lightyears across the galaxy, Astral finds herself ridiculously removed from Lord Vader. She doesn’t even have a direct way to contact him. That’s deliberate—designed to keep her existence quiet for her protection. But since her trip to Kuat three weeks ago, Astral has had no update on how he is feeling and what he is doing and whether he has made any progress in the search for Luke Skywalker. It makes their relationship more than merely long distance. It’s downright arm’s length. And that’s not enough, Astral decides. She wants more of her Dark Lord.

She wanders over to the terrace railing. Watching the Coruscant cityscape lit up for the evening, Astral sighs and sips on her wine. Where are you tonight, my Lord? She wonders what he’s doing now. Does he miss her like she misses him? Does he fantasize about their two nights together like she does? Because Astral remembers the feel of hard metal hands in her hair and soft lips on her mouth. She remembers a body muscled and strong that was so incongruous with his obvious frailty.

So much of Darth Vader is a compelling contradiction. It fascinates Astral how she can see him casually choke a man and yet shed a hastily wiped away tear as he looks on pictures of his grown son. Lord Vader is as harsh, ruthless, and gruff as his Sith allegiance suggests, and yet at times so shockingly vulnerable, thoughtful, and normal. He seems equal parts Dark overlord and Light hero in her mind. A committed Sith and yet still very much a Jedi. He’s . . . complicated. But Astral likes it. Lord Vader’s inconsistencies don’t frustrate her so much as draw her in. He is a marvelously layered person who, like a good piece of artwork, stands up to repeated scrutiny. For the more you look and the more you learn, the more you understand and appreciate the work—and the man--as a whole.

Oh, my Lord, come back soon. Astral makes a wish as she takes yet another sip. Without a meal, this glass of wine is going straight to her head. But she doesn’t care. She might need to drink another glass to get her mind off Lord Vader. Because she remembers hot breath on her face and yellow eyes searing into hers as his body plunged into her body repeatedly. It had been glorious. Astral long ago ceased to be revulsed by Lord Vader’s infirmities. For marked though he is, the man still manages to retain a sizeable measure of sex appeal. Sure, he’s not the usual thing. But that doesn’t mean he’s unattractive.

Astral closes her eyes, wondering again where he is tonight. What she wouldn’t give to be in his arms tonight.

“Missing him, are you?”

Astral whirls and gasps, “P-Prince!” After three weeks of waiting for him to return, her mysterious visitor finally comes tonight? Now?? Standing there looking entirely too comfortable with her blouse untucked and no shoes, Astral feels at a disadvantage. And that’s not counting that she’s also slightly buzzed from the wine. Ugh . . . This is not how this conversation should occur.

Her uninvited guest graces her with a courtly bow. “Good evening, Ms. Sidhu.” He is formal like she remembers.

She, however, is not. “Uh . . . hello,” Astral gulps, quickly setting aside her wineglass. Looking behind the prince, she notes that there is no speeder or other form of transportation to explain how he is standing here on her terrace. Lord Vader must be correct that he’s using a trick of the Force. And that’s intimidating. Well, everything about this mysterious meddler is intimidating now that she knows he is far more than just a fellow art aficionado.

“Tell me, did your pilot enjoy my information?” the prince solicits, looking equal parts coy and sly. There will be no pretense that this is anything other than a negotiation, Astral surmises.

She knows her role. She’s supposed to help Lord Vader play hard to get. She can’t appear too interested on his behalf. So she does her best to appear underwhelmed as she shrugs. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know.”

The prince looks amused by her lie. Like he knows it’s a lie. “Oh?“

Astral doubles down on her posturing. Tossing her hair and crossing her arms, she lifts her chin and challenges, “You’ll have to do better than that datafile.” She’s doing her best feisty-badass-heroine-on-the-holonet impression. 

She’s not fooling anyone. The prince barely suppresses his grin. It’s rather patronizing actually. “Alright, then, what does he want?” he counters with twinkling eyes.

What does Lord Vader want? He wants his son. Astral answers, “The location of the Rebel pilot.” And did she say that too fast? Yes, she said that too fast. Too eager. Too nervous. Astral cringes inwardly. So much for being an unflappable negotiator. This acting intimidating thing Lord Vader does is harder than it looks.

“The location of the Rebel pilot?” the disfigured prince echoes with a marked smirk.

“Yes.”

“And he needs my help for that?” Her visitor raises his eyebrows in mock disbelief. “The mighty Imperial war machine can’t find one Rebel?”

Astral doesn’t answer. She doesn’t know how to answer that question without making Lord Vader look bad.

The prince lets her silence speak for a moment before he continues. “My dear, let us cease pretending. We both want to find the Rebel. Did you know your pilot even put a bounty on his head? Your pilot has enlisted the scum of the galaxy to come to his aid. Good thing I doubled the bounty to ensure that the target will come to me first, if and when found.”

“B-Bounty hunters??” Astral makes a face. That is so disreputable. And so unlike Lord Vader. “Bounty hunters?” she blinks. Can it be true?

“Yes. Bounty hunters,” the prince confirms. “It smacks of desperation. But I have to concede that the situation is uniquely delicate. Still,” his blue eyes slant to pin Astral down, “one can’t help but wonder if your pilot wishes to find the Rebel or to kill the Rebel. Officially, of course, he wants to kill him. But unofficially . . . ??”

Astral doesn’t immediately answer. She’s too afraid to make a mistake.

“Well?” The prince approaches closer now and keeps walking. He’s close. Threateningly close. He looms over Astral from his seven-foot height. He’s so real that Astral can’t believe that what she’s seeing is some sort of vision of the Force. “Which is it?” he demands softly.

“He wants to help him.” Not to kill him. Never to kill him.

“Why?”

Astral blinks back at the prince as she searches for an appropriate reply. She’s unwilling to reveal the truth of Lord Vader’s relationship to the Rebel pilot. He had warned her not to give anything away. But that’s far harder than it sounds. The prince probably already knows the Skywalker lineage, but still . . .

When she continues to hesitate, her impatient visitor prompts, “Say the words. Tell me why. Why does Darth Vader want to help a Rebel pilot?”

_Darth Vader_. Not ‘the pilot.’ The time for dissembling is over, it seems. But she will not consciously betray Lord Vader. Astral keeps searching for an acceptable response. Or, at least, a less damaging truth.

“So good. So loyal,” the prince approves as he considers her, like he knows what she’s thinking. “Tell me why,” he coaxes again. “Don’t make me take it from you. Why does Darth Vader want to help a Rebel pilot? The Rebel pilot who blew up the Death Star?”

“I . . . I . . .” Astral is still fumbling for an acceptable answer to the verbal trap she has laid for herself.

The prince leans in and cajoles, “We are friends, are we not? We can trust one another.”

No, they cannot. _Never trust a Sith_. A Sith Lord himself taught Astral that piece of wisdom. Feeling cornered in more ways than one, she now attempts to take a step back. But she’s standing at the terrace railing and there is nowhere to go.

“Why does Darth Vader want to help a Rebel pilot?” the prince asks again. This time, his voice is slow and quiet. But it’s just as effective as if he were yelling in her face.

“To save him,” Astral admits, looking down in discomfort.

“Save him from what?” the prince presses.

“From the E-Emperor,” she stammers out.

“Why? Why would Darth Vader want to save a Rebel fugitive from the Emperor’s justice?”

Astral clams up. She refuses to reveal that the Rebel pilot is Lord Vader’s son.

“Why?” The prince hovers. “Tell me,” he commands. “I am many things, but I am not omnipotent.”

He is very convincing. For a moment, Astral finds herself strangely wanting to comply. But then, she blinks and reasserts herself. She might not be the loudest voice in the room, but she’s not weak minded. Still, Astral feels the stone balustrade digging into her back. This man is big enough that he could probably toss her over, she worries. But to reveal the relationship of Luke Skywalker to Darth Vader in not an option. She settles on a lesser confession. “Because he has the Force.” Lots and lots of Force.

“Good. Gooood.” The prince’s eyes light up. And is it her imagination, or do they flash yellow? “It is as I hoped,” he breathes out.

Oh, yikes. Astral realizes immediately that she has revealed something meaningful after all. “You didn’t know? Oh Gods, you didn’t know—“ She claps a hand over her mouth in horror.

The prince looks very, very pleased. “I wondered if there was a reason Kenobi never trained the boy. The Force is hereditary, but not in all instances. I worried perhaps not in this most special case.”

“Oh Gods . . .” she groans anew, mortified by her admission.

“Not to worry. We can trust each other. Let us share more confidences,” the monstrous looking prince wheedles. “How does Lord Vader know that the boy has the Force? He’s never met him.”

Astral shakes her head, unwilling to divulge more. No one needs to know that Lord Vader only recognized the enormous power of the Rebel pilot when he almost killed him in the Death Star trench. “N-No. . . n-no . . .” she balks. She’s done enough damage, she fears.

But the prince switches tactics. This time he reaches out a large, clawed hand to cup at her trembling cheek. His touch immobilizes her instantly. Suddenly, Astral is frozen and unable to resist or flee. It’s the strangest, most frightening feeling ever to be trapped in her own body. 

“We can trust each other. Relax,” the prince soothes as he now controls more than just her movements. Suddenly, it feels like he’s in her head. Rewinding her memories to view them like a holonet show. “Give me everything. Show him to me as you see him. Show me what you know,” the prince whispers.

“I won’t—“ Does she say the words? Or merely think them? Astral can’t be sure. But either way, the prince understands.

He counters gently, “You must. You can’t stop me. No one can stop me this time.”

He’s right. The prince sees it all. From Lord Vader’s rescue by the art freighter, to his punishment from cruel Lord Sidious, to his slow and painful recovery at his castle. Prince Venamis sees Lord Vader yelling at her, complaining about her, lecturing her, and commiserating with her. She’s feeding him, fetching things for him, then kissing him and more. He’s asking her to stay as they stand next to the body of the assassin she shot to death. But she’s too scared of his dangerous life and the even scarier marriage commitment he had casually tossed out, so she flees . . . only to find herself back in his arms again. For two nights, she’s improbably lost in the rapture of his broken body. Here she is, divorced and forty, in bed with a quadriplegic, and yet having better sex than her newlywed twenty-something self who had thigh gap, pert breasts, and her whole life ahead of her. Astral can’t get enough of this enigmatic man, and so she ends up plotting treason with him on his star destroyer when together they view the prince’s datafile on Luke Skywalker.

Astral is overwhelmed and ashamed to be the source of incriminating information. This is betrayal, even if it is not voluntary. Is she as bad as Padme Amidala now? Astral can feel hot tears spilling down her cheeks, but she can’t move to wipe them.

The prince is in her mind still. He knows how she feels. Thankfully, he takes pity on Astral. He wipes the tears himself with fatherly hands. “Shhh . . . I won’t hurt you. He needs you too much. This isn’t your fault. Now forget,” the prince intones as he waves a hand before her eyes.

She does forget. Astral blinks. “W-whaat?” she wonders aloud in confusion. “What just happened?”

The prince ignores her. He’s grinning ear to ear. “Like a good guest, I come bearing a gift,” he announces. He reaches into his robes to retrieve two datafiles. He offers both to Astral.

“Give these to Lord Vader with my compliments. One contains more information on the Rebel. The other contains coordinates and a meeting date. I wish to meet with him. As much as I enjoy your company, Ms. Sidhu, the time has come for Lord Vader and I to meet. Tell him to come alone lest I be forced to murder his companions. High treason,” he warns, “requires minimal involvement.”

The mysterious prince who assuredly is not a prince now disappears as abruptly as he did last time. In his wake, Astral has two new datafiles, hazy recollections of a mostly cordial conversation, and an inexplicable runny nose like she’s been crying. 

She contacts Vanee who promises to contact Lord Vader. The message promptly returns that Lord Vader will be on Coruscant in three hours. Astral is to report to the palace later tonight. Excited and relieved, she hastens to freshen up. Lord Vader likes his women to look fancy and feminine, she knows. So no slacks and boots tonight.

When hours later Astral arrives at the palace, Vanee is waiting for her at the security checkpoint. He ushers her through with minimal fuss. Like last time, no one examines the contents of the datafiles in her pocket.

“The Master will be arriving shortly,” Vanee informs her as he bids her to follow him. “He’s come to have a quick word with you before he leaves. He won’t be staying. This is just a quick detour on the way to the Mid Rim.”

“Oh.” She’s disappointed and it shows. “I see.”

Vanee commiserates. “I’m sorry, Astral.”

“He’s very busy, I know,” she concedes. “How is he?” 

“About the same, but you can see for yourself. He just dropped out of hyperspace. It won’t be long now.”

It turns out that Astral won’t even get a private moment alone with Lord Vader in his quarters. Vanee conducts her to the giant palace landing pad to await his shuttle. Tonight, all she’ll get is a rushed conversation under the bright lights of the landing pad as stormtroopers with heavy rifles and the ground crew look on. Astral sighs and tries to feel satisfied. It’s something, at least.

A large shuttle touches down. Astral’s heart does a little flutter of excitement. But it’s not Lord Vader’s shuttle. His shuttle has been held up in order for a higher priority vehicle to land. Who has higher priority than Lord Vader? The special guests of the Emperor.

Astral watches a group of cloaked and hooded people disembark from the newly arrived shuttle in silent single file lines. They are met by the slim, slight older man who Astral remembers Lord Vader overtly distrusting. This is the Milo guy who Darth Vader threw out of his castle. As Lord Sidious’ servant leads the solemn group away, Astral leans into Vanee to ask, “Who are they?”

“Sith acolytes,” Vanee replies with a contemptuous lift of his chin and a disdainful sniff. “They are the Dark Side version of the Church of the Force. They have no Force sensitivity but they adhere to the Sith religion. Wannabes,” Vanee rolls his eyes.

“Oh.”

“Lord Sidious convenes them for his monthly rituals. Darth Sidious has a keen interest in alchemy and mysticism. He has quite a few followers now,” Vanee grumbles. “They are lured by access to power to be his personal cult of personality and,” his old eyes twinkle with undisguised sarcasm, “his personal cult. Tonight, looks to be a high mass judging by the numbers. Looks like everyone got an invite.” Vanee’s disapproving eyes follow the group as they walk towards the greenspace that separates Lord Vader’s palace from Lord Sidious’ far larger edifice. “There they go to worship at the altar of our Emperor’s ego.”

“I see they stole your outfit,” Astral teases him.

“Wannabes,” Vanee harrumphs as he lifts a hand to adjust his own black hooded cloak.

“So this Sith business has been going on for generations and no one knows?“ Astral asks.

“Oh, no. The Sith persist, of course. But these cult rituals fell out of observance eons ago. Lord Sidious has revived them for modern times. It’s rather quaint,” Vanee condescends. “I’m half expecting Lord Sidious to start sacrificing goats for augery any day now,” he says with gleeful snark.

“Why?” Astral is fascinated by the line of spooky hooded Dark Side loyalists. “Why does the Emperor do this?” And does Lord Vader do this too? Astral knows so little about the religion of the Sith. And the Force, for that matter.

“Lord Sidious fancies himself as the return to the glory days of the Old Sith Empire. He slavishly apes the pageantry and ways of the Old Sith. His dead master would have laughed at it.”

“Who was he?” Astral asks, knowing full well that Lord Vader thinks Lord Sidious’ old Master is the most likely candidate for the true identity of Prince Venamis.

“Lord Plagueis?” Vanee thinks a moment. “He was a very rational man. He eschewed superstition for the most part. He hated it when the Force was referred to as magic. Power, he would correct you. The Force is elemental, eternal power. Not some hat trick to impress laypeople.” Vanee shakes his head. “Lord Sidious and Lord Plagueis were two very different men with sharply divergent concepts of the Force. There was much conflict between them.”

“So Lord Plagueis did not use rituals with acolytes?”

“Lord Plagueis didn’t feel the need to be worshiped as a Dark priest. He craved knowledge and power, not renown. The only hocus pocus he believed in was the Sith’ari.”

Astral knows that word. “The Chosen One?” she whispers aloud the term’s Jedi equivalent.

“Yes.” Vanee’s eyes narrow as he turns to regard her with some surprise. “You know of the legend?”

“A little,” she admits. “Lord Vader told me.”

Vanee gives her a serious look. “It’s true. All of it.”

She nods. Curious, she asks, “Did you know Darth Plagueis?”

“Milo was his servant,” Vanee answers with a non-answer.

Astral lets the point slide. “So why does Milo serve Lord Plagueis’ murderer now?“

Vanee is matter of fact. “That’s how it works. When the Apprentice ascends to the rank of Master, he inherits all of the Master’s wealth, property, and household. That includes us. We serve the Sith, Astral. Meaning we serve the reigning Sith Master.”

Milo now reappears and beckons to Vanee. Vanee excuses himself and leaves Astral standing alone on the landing pad.

Another shuttle lands. Could this be Lord Vader? It is. Down the still lowering ramp tromps the caped, masked, and armored Sith Lord from the holonet clips. Astral can’t contain her relief and excitement. She steps forward fast, only belatedly realizing that Lord Vader is not alone. He is accompanied by an officer. Astral had missed the assistant’s approach. She only has eyes for Lord Vader.

_Be careful what you say._ She hears Lord Vader’s warning voice in her head. _Keep it neutral._ _Follow my lead. This has to be quick._

“This is the informant, Sir?” The officer looks Astral over critically as he and Darth Vader walk up. Does the man think it strange that they are meeting a middle-aged civilian female dressed in her most elegant gown like she’s heading off to the opera? If so, he doesn’t comment.

“Report,” Lord Vader orders to Astral. As usual, he gets right to the point. “What do you have for me?”

Astral offers over the two datafiles.

“Two?”

“One has coordinates,” she answers. “He wants a meeting.”

“Good.”

“The other is more surveillance, I think.”

“Good.”

“Shall I get those processed through Intel?” the officer at Lord Vader’s shoulder solicits.

“No. I will deal with them myself,” Lord Vader decrees as he pockets the datafiles. “I’m stiff from the flight. I’m going to walk a bit while we refuel, but hurry up. You,” Darth Vader shakes a gloved finger under Astral’s nose, “follow me and tell me about this meeting.”

Astral dutifully follows Lord Vader away from the shuttle to the far side of the landing pad where a big cruiser is parked. It’s the direction that the Emperor’s acolytes had headed toward the Imperial Palace. There are still plenty of guards on the perimeter here, but it’s away from the night ground crew on duty. That makes their conversation less likely to be overheard.

“Are you alright?” Lord Vader asks. His brusque demeanor is gone.

“Yes, I’m fine. The prince was pretty much the same as last time.” Or so, she thinks. Their meeting is kind of a blur in her memory, but maybe that’s because she was so nervous.

“When and where is this meeting?”

“He said the coordinates and time are on the datafile. He said to come alone.”

“Naturally. That makes an ambush so much easier,” Lord Vader gripes with heavy sarcasm.

“Are you going to meet him?”

“That depends what’s on the new information. If it’s good, then yes. If not, then I’m going to hold out a bit longer.” The inscrutable helmet swings her direction as they walk side by side. “Astral, I want to get you out of the middle, but there’s no point in doing it too soon. This prince needs to work for it.”

“I understand.”

“Trust must be earned.”

“I understand.” She’s the gatekeeper to Lord Vader now.

“Sheev is holding one of his rituals tonight. He doesn’t like me around for those. He thinks he keeps an advantage by hoarding his tricks. It’s why I can’t stay.”

“I understand.”

Lord Vader draws to a halt and Astral stops too. She is facing him under the gloomy shadows of the parked cruiser. It’s not exactly private, but it’s the best they can do to obscure this public meeting. “I m-miss you,” she says a bit tentatively. Is she speaking out of turn in this context?

She must not be, for her admission provokes one from her Sith. “I miss you more,” he answers softly.

“I wish I could see your face,” she whispers up at the mask that is all sharp angles and glossy veneer. It’s nothing like the man beneath. “My Lord, I . . . “ Astral falters, embarrassed to give voice to her desire to kiss him. But she plows forward anyhow. She needs to get this off her chest. Her face flaming, she sheepishly admits to her longing, “I wish we could be together again.”

“We will,” he promises. He reaches out a gloved hand that she accepts. They stand together hand in hand a moment before he tugs her forward into his arms. It’s a shockingly intimate pose for this setting. Given the risks, their embrace will have to be short lived. But even so, Astral melts into him for this too brief, too chaste moment. It’s all she will get for weeks, so she will savor it.

“Look, how touching.”

Astral has her face buried in Lord Vader’s armor and her arms encircling his chest when she hears the gravelly voice drawl from behind. The smug, mocking tone is scathing. “Who knew there was a woman alive who would volunteer for this?”

Embarrassed Astral steps back fast. She doesn’t get far. Lord Vader still has an arm about her. It tightens into a vice grip. That uncharacteristic roughness speaks volumes.

It’s a silent warning that Astral doesn’t need. For she immediately recognizes the couple standing behind them watching. The petite woman with her arms crossed is Lady Sidious. Astral would recognize that magenta-red mane anywhere. Even in the dim light, it’s far too bright. Plus, the tight gown she wears has a thigh high slit that seems very much in keeping with the catsuited woman Astral recalls meeting.

Cocking her head to the side, the older woman muses aloud, “She really is his girl . . .”

The man at her side, cloaked in the style of Vanee, could only be her husband. This is the Emperor of the known galaxy, the former stalwart statesman who presided over the fall of the Republic, the reigning Sith Master Lord Sidious himself. Here is the man who is building yet another Death Star. He’s the punisher with the magical Force lightning he cast down on Darth Vader like an angry Dark god. And he is the man who she, Lord Vader, and the prince are conspiring to depose. The proof is on the datafiles in Lord Vader’s pocket.

Astral freezes and swallows hard. This moment could not be more dangerous.

His Excellency the Emperor shoots his wife an annoyed look. “Of course, she is his woman. Did you really doubt me?” he complains.

“Ani has a girl? After all this time?” Lady Sidious looks equal parts relieved for herself and happy for Lord Vader, who stands silent except for his ever-present respirator hiss. “Oh, Ani, that’s wonderful,” Lady Sidious beams. She looks genuinely happy, like she truly likes the Apprentice. Elbowing her husband hard, she now prompts, “Sheev, isn’t that wonderful?”

Lord Sidious grunts. “I’m sure it’s platonic. He’s a droid.”

Lady Sidious sizes them up. “That doesn’t look platonic,” she points out. Her Emperor husband scowls in response. But Lady Sidious is full of apologies. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Ani. If I knew she was your girl, I never would have said anything. When I saw she was a pretty redhead, I just figured this asshole was cheating again—"

That further irritates the already irritated looking Emperor. “You know I would never cheat on you,” he proclaims to his skeptical wife. Jabbing a withered, skeletal looking hand Astral’s direction, Lord Sidious disdains, “Certainly not with that.”

Lady Sidious looks mollified. “She is a little classy for you,” she concedes.

“Shall I have him kill her? Will that make you happy?” Lord Sidious offers.

Astral stiffens.

Lord Vader’s automatic respiration quickens.

But Lady Sidious just tosses her red mane and retorts, “Don’t be a dick, Sheev.”

“To kill what you love is very Sith,” Lord Sidious observes with no small amount of relish.

“And very stupid,” his wife informs him quickly. “Don’t be a dick, Sheev. Ani just wants to be happy like us,” she announces smugly. Now, she moves to hang on her heavily robed husband, sliding up close next to him to drape herself down his side. It’s a possessive, adoring gesture that makes Astral blink at its intimacy. But maybe she herself has no grounds for censure given she just got caught in a furtive public embrace of Lord Vader.

“He still owes me some Rebels,” the Emperor observes coldly. “She should die because he owes me dead Rebels.”

Lady Sidious objects. “Sheev Palpatine, did you learn nothing from the Muun?”

“Don’t talk to me of him,” Darth Sidious huffs. “I killed him for you.”

His wife raises an eyebrow. “You killed him for you.”

Her husband snaps back, “It helped us both. A win-win, my dear.”

“Well, leave her alone,” Lady Sidious decrees. “Don’t repeat the mistakes of your own Master.”

“Vader can’t kill me,” Lord Sidious retorts with a bully’s glee.

“Yes, yes, we all know,” his wife all but rolls her eyes. “But you weren’t supposed to be able to kill the Muun either. Don’t tempt fate. And don’t be an asshole.” Lady Sidious now turns to Astral. “How did you guys meet?”

“This is not a social occasion—” her husband growls.

“Why not?” Lady Sidious turns back to Astral. “Let me see your hand. Did he slash your hand?” She walks forward to take Astral’s left hand. “I’m Cresta, by the way. Don’t call me ‘my lady.’ I hate that.”

Astral is confused . . . and alarmed. The choice of verb doesn’t portend well. “Slash my—"

“It’s a Sith thing,” Lady Sidious explains without managing to explain anything. She inspects Astral’s unremarkable left hand and looks disappointed. “No? He hasn’t popped the question yet?”

“Perhaps she said no,” Lord Sidious purrs. “Maybe she knows what happened to the first Lady Vader. Did he tell you?” the Emperor asks coyly. “Well?” Without waiting for Astral’s reply, Lord Sidious reveals, “Darth Vader choked his pregnant wife until she passed out unconscious at his feet . . . and died.”

Lord Vader breaks his silence. “She was alive—"

“Or so, he claims.” Lord Sidious’ yellow eyes peer across at Astral as he warns, “Padme Amidala was never seen alive again.”

“The Jedi stole her,” Lord Vader thunders.

His Master disagrees. “He killed her. He killed his unborn child along with her. Then he blamed the Jedi. All these years later, my Apprentice is still unwilling to admit his guilt. To face the truth.” Lord Sidious gives Astral a stern look. “Do be careful, Astral Sidhu, lest you share her fate. Darth Vader is a killer,” he leers, “my killer. He will kill who I tell him to kill. Even you.”

The Master now turns his attention to his Apprentice. “Find me some Rebels,” he orders, “or you will bury this woman too. I can see that she has been distracting you from your duties. Perhaps she is the impediment to our progress?”

“No, Master,” Lord Vader instantly responds. “I will find them.”

“See to it personally, Apprentice. Because if your failure continues, I will need to deal with this distraction.”

“Yes, Master.”

The servant Milo now appears. He bows respectfully to the Imperial couple. “My Lord,” he inserts himself, “the acolytes are assembled. They await your attendance for the convocation.”

“Yes, yes, I will be there directly,” Lord Sidious nods. His threats finished and his damage done, the Emperor now shepherds his wife away. The pair leave at a leisurely pace, as if it is their nightly custom to stroll through their palace landing pad that reeks of spilled hyperfuel and engine oil. But Astral rather doubts that is the case. The moment she showed up at the palace gates, the security guys must have alerted them. Lady Sidious had threatened she should not return, Astral recalls. She made good on that threat.

When the pair are safely away, Lord Vader speaks. “Come inside with me.”

He starts striding inside but Astral is reluctant. Honestly, every instinct now tells her to flee, not to follow. To run from the scary sadist Emperor who casually threatens her death, to run from the danger presented by whatever is on those datafiles from the prince, and to run from Lord Vader who clearly hasn’t told her the whole story of what happened with his wife. Because what sort of fool is she to think that she can hold her own amid all these alpha male Force demigods who jockey for position? She is way out of her league in their deadly power plays.

When she doesn’t immediately tag along, Lord Vader turns back to insist. “Come inside. We should talk.”

“You said you didn’t have time—“

“I will make time.” He offers her his gloved hand now. It softens his request from a command to an invitation, and that gets her walking. Astral has a soft spot for the gallant, private version of Darth Vader.

Astral knows what the conversation will be, of course. Here come the explanation and the excuses. The apologies and the warnings. Vanee was right when he told her that it is a dangerous thing to be Lord Vader’s lady. Tonight could not have illustrated that point better. Sure enough, after a long walk inside in silence, Lord Vader starts talking the moment they are inside his medical pod and he gets his mask off.

“I didn’t kill her. I swear I didn’t kill her. She was alive—“

“What did you do?” Astral cuts him off. She’s far more interested in his admissions than his denials.

Lord Vader’s mouth twists as he looks down. “We argued.”

“Yes?”

“I told her to remain on Coruscant. It was for her safety. But she disobeyed me. She showed up on Mustafar with a Jedi to kill me.” His face reveals that two decades later, Darth Vader is still furious about that betrayal. Seeing his expression now, Astral can only imagine how bitterly livid he must have been in the moment.

But still . . . she was his pregnant wife. Could he not have found a solution short of deadly force? Astral shoots Lord Vader a hard look. “Are you going to choke me if I disobey you? If we argue?”

“No!” He is vehement.

“Are you sure? Because this plot we are hatching could have any number of issues we might disagree on. And the stakes are high, too.”

Lord Vader is quick to reassure, “I will meet with the prince going forward. I’m taking you out of the mix. No more go-between—“

“And the Emperor?” she demands.

“I’ll find him some Rebels. Astral, I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t hurt you. I promise you. No harm will come to you.”

She can’t help but feel a little skeptical. “Did you promise your wife that?” Violence seems to be a Sith’s stock and trade.

Her sharp comment makes Darth Vader blanch a little. The fearsome Sith is momentarily diminished. “Padme and I . . . look, we were moving in different directions . . . I see that now . . . but I was desperate to save her—“

“Save her from what?”

Lord Vader hesitates and then exhales a weary, resigned sigh. The whole story starts tumbling out now. “Back then, I had Force visions. It’s common for a strong Force user to get a peek into the future. It’s the cosmic Force—the arc of the universe—not the living Force that is the here and now.”

Whatever. “Okay.”

“What I saw for Padme was what I saw for my mother—death. And I was determined to stop it! I didn’t save my mother when I could have. I was too busy being an obedient Jedi to listen to what the Force was telling me. So when I got there, it was too late. My mother died in my arms. Raped and tortured for weeks by the animal sandpeople.”

“Oh.” The short version of that story is so bad that Astral isn’t sure she wants to hear the long version.

“I could have saved her--easily! So when I started seeing visions of Padmé’s death, I knew I had to act. I wasn’t going to let the Jedi or anyone else stand in my way. I had longstanding issues with the Jedi, it’s true. But I went to the Dark Side mostly to save my wife. I went seeking new powers that could save Padme from certain death.”

Astral screws up her face. “But instead, you killed her yourself?”

“The Jedi turned her against me!” he rages. “I lost her the moment I flipped Sith, even if I didn’t recognize it. When we fought, I lost control, I admit it. But I’m not some novice Sith anymore. I can control my power now.”

Astral looks down as she realizes aloud, “So . . . you did kill her . . . ”

He keeps to his story. “I hurt her. Whether I killed her or not, I’ll never know. I had her body examined by several forensic types. There was no conclusive cause of death. But I did choke her until she fell unconscious. Sheev is right about that.”

Lord Vader is miserable now. The memories this conversation dredges up have his face bleak with regret. Remembering the closet full of dresses at the castle that he kept in hopes his wife would return, Astral knows his remorse is sincere.

“I was wrong to hurt her. But I just couldn’t let her go. I went to the Dark Side to save her, I did terrible things to stoke my power, and then it was all for nothing because she didn’t want me. And so, of course, she died.” Lord Vader is clearly so frustrated still. His yellow eyes are flashing as intense as she’s ever seen. “If I hadn’t choked her, she would have died anyway, I know it! Either way, I was fucked!” he rages against the false choice he made. “I just didn’t see it. I guess I couldn’t accept it. I loved her too much . . . ”

Astral nods. “I’m sorry.”

“The Jedi advised me to let go. This is precisely why they forbade attachments. Because love can cloud your reason and trump your priorities. It can lead you to be rash. They would have wanted me to be passive and to accept Padmé’s death as the will of the Force. But I couldn’t do that.” Lord Vader pleads with her to understand. “Astral, I loved her! I refused to give her up. And that moment we argued, it was like my world was collapsing. My Master who I loved like a brother had come to kill me. Led there by my own wife. I was so betrayed. She was so ungrateful. I lost it . . . I couldn’t stop myself . . . ”

There are tears in the yellow eyes of the Sith Lord whose name is a byword for ruthless detachment across the entire galaxy. This is the man no one sees but Astral. The complicated man who is a mix of good and bad.

“Of all the mistakes I have made, hurting Padme is the one I regret the most. I don’t regret breaking with the Republic. I don’t regret killing the Jedi. But hurting my wife . . . it was a mistake. And now that I see what has happened to my son, I see that hurting Padme had very lasting consequences. She paid for my mistake, I paid for my mistake, and our children paid too. I still don’t know where my daughter is . . . I may never know . . .”

“The prince might know.”

“If he does,” Lord Vader observes bitterly, “the price for that information will be high.” He resumes his talk of the past now, looking terribly haunted. “I tried for years to revive Padme in the Force. To make it up to her. I failed. It’s why I can’t let my son become some Jedi Rebel. I failed his mother, but I refuse to fail him.” Lord Vader looks very committed as he vows, “I can’t change the past. All I can do is try to do better now.”

Astral nods and steps forward to embrace him. For right now, Darth Vader sorely needs a hug. They stand there a long moment together. Even in full armor, she can feel the tension in his rigid frame. He’s very upset.

“I get attached,” he mumbles into her hair as he clings tightly. Heartache and failure have made him humiliatingly self-aware. “I can’t love with limits and conditions. I was never cut out to be a Jedi. I need people too much. And I can’t let go. I hate it when people leave me.” His words keep coming. Fast, intense, and full of shame.

“It’s okay,” she soothes, trying to talk him down. “It will be okay.”

“Don’t leave me. Please don’t ever leave me,” he rasps from above her head.

Astral doesn’t answer. Talk of forever scares her. She did forever once and it didn’t work out.

He knows it, too. “You don’t have to marry me. We can keep it informal as long as you never leave me. I think I need you—“

“Shhhh,” she soothes, hugging him closer. “I’m here.”

But he still needs reassurance, if not in words then in deeds. Lord Vader starts kissing her cheek now. Weakness has made him kneejerk aggressive and possessive. “This is not platonic,” he growls before he moves to claim her mouth.

Yes, it’s far from platonic. For this is what Astral has been longing for these past few weeks. She can’t help it. She moans. She’s very willing to be seduced.

It’s the encouragement Lord Vader needs. His gloved hands are everywhere. They begin hiking up her long skirt. “I am not a droid,” he snarls, once again refuting his Master’s stinging words that cut deep.

No, he’s not a droid. Lord Vader fiddles with his suit and now she can feel the evidence of his very human lust. They don’t have time to do this properly. He removes the bare minimum necessary and so does she. Then he bends her back over his cluttered desk as he braces himself for better leverage. It’s not very comfortable and it’s all over in five minutes. But it’s the connection she’s craving and the validation he needs. They don’t have time to look at the datafiles together, but they have time for this.

But just barely. He has to get back to his ship. Lord Sidious has his Dark Side séance tonight. Plus, it’s late and she needs to get home. Astral has to work tomorrow.

“Be careful if you decide to meet the prince,” Astral admonishes as they right their clothing and prepare to part.

He’s already jamming back on his helmet. His reply comes in the amplified stentorian tones of the public Darth Vader. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Trying to part on an optimistic note, Astral reminds him of the one bright spot of the run-in with his boss. “At least the Emperor still believes the children are dead.”

“For now,” Lord Vader grumbles.


	20. chapter 20

First things first. Before he looks at the new datafiles from the prince, Vader gives orders for a known band of political dissidents on Corellia to be rounded up and executed. They have overt Rebel leanings, but they aren’t actual Rebels. They spread malcontent, but none has actually planned or engaged in armed revolt. These are the type of people Vader has been inclined to treat leniently. They are monitored but accommodated lest a crackdown push them to become further radicalized. But no more. Vader rounds up the Corellian Rebel sympathizers, as well as similar groups on six other systems. In all, two days later, fifteen hundred people are dead.

Is it enough? His Master says he wants dead Rebels, so Vader will give him dead Rebels. Well, dead pretend-Rebels. Almost-Rebels. Proto-Rebels. The missions have zero strategic value. These deaths will have no impact on Mon Mothma’s armed revolt. But will they appease Darth Sidious? Vader is determined to show results to protect Astral. Between the threat his Master poses to Astral and the threat he poses to his son, Darth Vader has more reason than ever to kill Darth Sidious, but no more means to do it. So his strategy is to get on his boss’ good side and stay there.

Satisfied for now, Vader locks himself inside his medical pod aboard his star destroyer. He takes a deep, fortifying breath and opens the first smuggled datafile. It’s the surveillance datafile. Vader’s attention is rapt as he scrolls through more images of the stranger who is his adult son. 

These pictures are not from Tatooine. They are from inside a Rebel base. Somehow, this mysterious prince has a mole within the Rebel Alliance and that mole photographed Luke Skywalker. Like most surreptitious photographs, they aren’t high quality. No one will win any awards for composition in these images. Most of the pictures seem to feature that pesky Alderaan princess more prominently than his son. Vader can only conclude that the pair are close friends—maybe even a future couple—from the scenarios he sees depicted of them together. He files that information away for future reference.

There are far fewer pictures overall this time, but what Vader sees is utterly fascinating. He sees Luke Skywalker in a Rebel pilot’s flightsuit walking arm and arm with the princess and some other fellow. The trio looks jubilant. Here again is Luke Skywalker with the princess. He’s cleaned up a bit and wearing a medal, looking very much the daring Rebel hero. Next, the pair are together in a casual moment in the commissary. And is that what he thinks it is?? Vader peers closer and enlarges the image. Yes, it is.

Vader stares hard at the weapon clipped to the kid’s belt. It’s his old lightsaber. He lost it on Mustafar, or so he thought. Kenobi must have picked it up as a trophy. Evidently, he gave it to Luke. There’s no other explanation. That’s the lightsaber that began the Jedi Purge. Vader led the assault on the Coruscant Temple with that weapon. He slaughtered younglings with that sword. And here it is two decades later in his son’s possession. It makes Vader wonder anew just what Kenobi and Lars told Luke Skywalker about his absent father.

One thing is clear—Astral’s art loving prince must know where the Rebels hide in order to obtain these pictures. And that means the prince knows where Luke Skywalker is. Whoever this prince is, he has the information Vader needs to crush the Rebels and to return to Sheev’s good graces, all the while protecting Astral and finding his son.

It is the perfect lure. There’s no way that Vader is skipping this meeting.

He immediately grabs for the datafile with the meeting coordinates and date. When and where is he going? To Naboo next week. Ugh. He hates Naboo. He hasn’t been to Naboo since Padmé’s body was reinterred. He has long avoided that planet—it has too many memories. But it looks like he’s heading to Naboo once more.

Every day, it seems, in unanticipated ways his past keeps rising up to confront him. The life and times of Anakin Skywalker are long gone, but his legacy lives on. Why? Vader half-fears to find out. He thought he had put his old life behind him forever. But it seems the Force has other plans. So, it’s back to Naboo. He cannot pass up the chance to protect Astral and to save his son. They are his last, best hope for a better future. 

Vader suspects the shadowy prince he is meeting knows all that. For as his brand-new personal TIE exits hyperspace into the Naboo system a week later, Darth Vader feels very manipulated. Suspicion has his senses on high alert. This meeting is either a trap or an opportunity. And either way, Vader risks death by being here. But he is not a man who has ever shied from danger. 

The meeting coordinates are deep in the rural Naboo countryside. It is a sparsely populated area that would be the perfect spot for an ambush. With cover of darkness, no witnesses around, and ample possibilities to hide a body and the burned-out wreckage of his ship, it is an ideal location to kill him. Is he the galaxy’s biggest fool for being here? Vader hopes not. But as he activates the TIE’s landing cycle, he whispers a quick prayer he learned as a child just in case. _Force be with me_. 

When he exits his TIE, Vader discovers that he is expected. Milo, his Master’s old manservant is waiting for him with a lantern in hand. Has he been set up? That has always been a possibility, but Vader deemed it unlikely. Darth Sidious would not bother with such an elaborate ruse. Sheev would summon him to the palace he so rarely leaves in order to kill him. But Milo served Lord Plagueis before he served Lord Sidious, and so perhaps the riddle of who this prince is has just been solved.

“Milo.” Vader’s greeting is far from cordial. Neither man likes or trusts the other, and they both know it.

Nevertheless, the servant bows low in response. “Welcome, my Lord. This way into the Temple, please. He’s waiting inside.”

Of course, he is. If Vader needed proof he was meeting a Sith, this is it. For only a Force sensitive adherent of the Dark Side can open a Sith Temple.

“This way, please.”

“Very well.” Vader complies with the request but he also lights his sword. Old Milo will be the first to die if this is a ruse. 

This sure isn’t Exogol, Vader judges as they step inside. The small Dark Side Temple they enter is more chapel than cathedral. Well, maybe it’s more like a priest hole. For like every other ancillary Sith Temple located within historic Republic territory, it was built by Sith loyalists during the Jedi era. It was a time when the Sith were in deep hiding. No one was constructing impressive edifices that might attract attention.

Inside the winding corridors, the stone walls are inscribed with Kittat runes in the vertical style of the reformed Sith. The whole place has the spare, rustic look the religion adopted after the Old Sith Empire fell and that purist Bane took over things. Bane must have been a miserly grump because he preferred things stark and plain. It is in sharp contrast to the few surviving ancient Temples that date four thousand years or more back to the glory days of the Old Sith Empire. Those sacred spaces of Darkness are richly ornamented in bold hues of red, white, black, and gold. They are full of hoarded treasures, from portraits of Dark heroes, to extravagant jeweled daggers for wedding ceremonies, to inscribed saber hilts and scrolls. The Temple on Mandalore’s Concordia moon even has a repository for ashes of fallen enemies to be collected as a tribute to Darkness. Even all these years later, the place still smells faintly of incense and the ritual table has darkened bloodstains. Sheev, of course, loves it. He gets off on the occult trappings of Darkness from the various eras. But Vader finds it all a bit unnecessary.

He follows the old man deeper into the Temple, ducking for the low clearance at the final doorway. The route up to this point has been circuitous, but he committed it to memory. Vader knows he may need to make a quick exit.

Their destination is a cavernous room that is empty but for a large stone table in the center. From an open skylight high above, bright moonlight filters down from Naboo's surface. Even still, the room is draped in sepulchral gloom. Vader recognizes it as the ritual chamber of the Temple. Here an Apprentice would pledge his loyalty, a curse would be spoken, a marriage vow given, an enemy sacrificed, or a treaty agreed. This is a place of beginnings and ends, of commitments not easily broken, and of life-altering bargains.

A man stands before the table, waiting with his back turned. The figure is tall, topping even himself. Naturally, he is cloaked and hooded in flowing black. Vader would expect no less, given this choice of setting.

"Who are you?" Vader demands without preamble. He’ll dispense with the pleasantries as usual.

The stranger answers with a command. "Put away your weapon. I mean you no harm." The man’s voice is low and gravelly with a cultured accent Vader cannot place.

Vader considers a moment, then extinguishes the sword. But the saber hilt remains firmly grasped in his hand. He is a man who has been at war since his teenage years, and he is vigilant by nature. Plus, everything about this clandestine meeting smacks of danger. Terrible, dreadful danger. Vader can feel the Force swirling around him, its frantic eddies and flows a prologue to the imminent change to come. Yes, what happens here today will matter. And whoever this cloaked man is, he matters too. Like his cruel Master, this stranger appears to be completely ordinary in the Force. But Vader’s gut tells him that is a lie. No one who can project himself into Coruscant is ordinary.

"Milo, leave us," the stranger commands. 

The servant bows and begins to withdraw, but Vader re-ignites his saber to stop him in his tracks. Vader is unwilling to lose the potential leverage of his hostage. He doesn't know if old Milo's life has any value to trade, but it's all he has. So Vader countermands, "He stays."

The mysterious figure now turns to face him, but his features are hidden in the shadows of his hood. The man's tone is patiently chiding. "Do not murder poor Milo. He is your ally, not your enemy. And good help is hard to find. Even for the Sith."

Milo is a spy, that much is clear. Whether he is an ally remains to be seen. "He stays," Vader insists.

"Very well." The cloaked figure does not debate the point. Neither of them is here to talk about old Milo.

Vader now extinguishes his saber and waits expectantly.

His host takes his cue. “Long have I waited for this day,” he rumbles. His tone drips with satisfaction and that makes Vader even more uneasy.

So, he demands again impatiently, "Who are you?" 

The stranger reaches to toss back his hood. "I am Darth Plagueis the Wise, Apprentice to Tenebrous and Master to Sidious."

Those claims may or may not be true. But what is true is that this man is horribly disfigured like himself. Standing facing one another, each draped in black, there are more similarities than differences. But Astral is right—this guy looks even worse than he does. The man has a gaping hole in his left cheek and a misshapen jaw, most of one ear is gone, and a glaring scar extends down the center of his forehead. As far as Vader can tell, the man is humanoid, but not human, with gray pink skin reminiscent of a Muun. He looks just as Astral has described, only his eyes are a familiar bright yellow and not blue. Those eyes are a sign of the Dark Side and the peculiar hallmark of a Sith.

For a second, Vader wonders what it’s like to walk around with a face like that. He himself wears a mask for his breathing, but it has the added benefit of concealing his own disfigured face. No one sees but a few and they know not to gawk. Not so for this stranger who walks through life a veritable monster.

Vader takes his time to look his full before responding curtly. "Plagueis is long dead."

The comment provokes a sly chuckle. "Oh, he's not dead. Not yet." And, surprisingly, the man now smiles. "Not dead," he repeats with a note of triumph in his voice. "Not ever dead."

Vader digests this dubious claim and decides it doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not. This guy could be Plagueis. Or he might be another discarded Apprentice like Maul. Or maybe an early Inquisitor. Perhaps, he’s a surviving early Apprentice of Plagueis. But his identity matters less than Luke Skywalker, so Vader gets right to the point. "What do you want?" This guy proposed the meeting, so he can take the lead.

"I wish to meet you."

That’s it? That’s it?? Vader doesn’t believe that for one moment. With guys like this, there’s always an offer. And the subject of that offer is going to be Luke Skywalker, he knows. This guy didn’t send him two sets of surveillance photos of his son for nothing.

Well, if this washed up old relic won’t get to the point, then he will. Vader demands, “Where are the Rebels? Where is Luke Skywalker?”

“I don’t know.”

Vader calls bullshit on that claim. “You don’t know,” he jeers, “and yet you have photos of him at the hidden Rebel base?”

“Those are old photos. They were taken by an embedded agent in the immediate aftermath of the destruction of the Death Star. Sadly, the man was killed when your forces showed up. The Imperial Navy didn’t manage to take out many of the fleeing Rebels, but it did take out the ship my spy was on. The Rebels dispersed and I lost them, like you did.”

“So you have nothing to offer me?” Vader concludes.

“I wouldn’t say that.” The mysterious Sith now dares to chides him. "You should cloak yourself in the Force, Lord Vader. You are far too easy for a Jedi to sense. I could feel you coming in the Force miles away."

Vader bristles at this condescension. Arrogance has long been his default response to criticism. Today is no exception. So he boasts back, "I have no need to hide. There are no Jedi. I killed them."

The hooded yellow eyes of the unknown Sith peer straight into Vader’s mask and seem to look right through him. "You and I both know that there are still Jedi," the man corrects him.

The stranger cocks his head now as he observes, "You do not know how to hide in the Force, do you?" The man with the ruined face so like his own shakes his head in disdain. "Hiding in the Force is the first lesson of being a Sith, and yet Lord Sidious does not teach it. Sheev is such a disappointment . . . such a disappointment . . . "

Again, Vader bristles at the criticism. Not on his Master's behalf, but on his own. For as long as he can remember, whether Jedi or Sith, someone has found him to be lacking. It’s a big reason why he’s ready to be done being the Apprentice. He’s tired of being everyone’s failure.

His host unwisely continues his theme of finding fault. It’s not endearing Vader to like or to trust him. But he persists, observing, “I know that Sheev teaches you very little of the Dark Side. I know that you were stronger as a Jedi than you are now as a Sith.”

It’s true, but Vader refuses to acknowledge it. He will give nothing away, especially to this man.

“It’s not from your injuries. The Force did not reside in the limbs you lost. Lord Vader, you are diminished by your Master who fears you. He fears your power. Sheev worries that one day you will eclipse him. You suspect it too, yes?" 

Vader makes no reply. He came here to talk about Luke Skywalker, not himself.

The towering Sith waves away one spindly fingered hand as if to indicate impatience with his stonewalling. "I know these things, you know these things . . . whether you will concede them or not.” Again, those yellow eyes seem to peer right through Vader’s mask, seeing things they should not. The man now challenges, “Do you know why, Lord Vader?"

So now it's a guessing game? He'll play along. Vader dutifully mutters, "Why?"

"Because Sheev Palpatine knows that you are my son."

_My son_. Vader frowns and keeps silent at this bold, ridiculous claim. 

"Yes, Anakin Skywalker, I am your father," the supposed Darth Plagueis states in his croaking baritone.

"That's not true," Vader scoffs, unimpressed and annoyed by this blatant attempt at manipulation. "That's impossible." Whoever this poseur is, he's not even human. He couldn't possibly be his father. 

A slow, sly smile creeps across the man’s ruined face. "Anything is possible in the Force,” he counters, sounding like an evil version of Yoda. “Technically, you are my creation. But I have always thought of you as a son.”

Vader is angered now. “You lie!” he accuses.

“Search your feelings, Lord Vader. You know it to be true. Your mother Shmi was a lowly slave woman when she fell pregnant. She wasn’t lying. There was no father. What was conceived in her was conceived in the Force . . . with a little intervention from myself.”

“You LIE!” Vader’s voice holds the warning note his subordinates know to heed.

But not this man. He persists in spinning his falsehoods. “I had been experimenting with Dark power, trying to push its limits. I pushed too hard. I went too far. And the Force pushed back . . . with you. I had long suspected that the universe defaults to balance, but your existence is the proof. In time, Shmi Skywalker would give birth to a son destined to save the galaxy. For unto us—all of us—a son is given. You are that son. The Jedi Chosen One and the Sith’ari long foretold.”

“YOU LIE!” Vader roars. He let this messiah of the Force business go to his head years ago, but no longer. He will not let myths mislead him any longer.

But his host continues undeterred. “You were born humble and wretched but with the spark of the divine. You were blessed with no birthright but the Force, and you did not get that from me. You got that from the Force itself. I was merely the catalyst.” The wily Sith standing across from him looks apologetic now. “Like so many children, you were an accident,” he admits. “The byproduct of a moment of folly. An inconvenience, unplanned and—at the time—unwanted. They say some of life’s greatest inventions were happy accidents. You were one of those, Anakin.”

Vader fumes in indignant silence now. He refuses to listen to any of this. Even if it has the ring of truth.

“I never abandoned you. I did not know of your existence until the Jedi found you. Sidious was my Apprentice at the time. He was terrified of you and jealous of your power. I feared if Sheev believed you to be his rival, he would kill you. And so, I left you with the Jedi to protect you and to make sure that you would be raised in the Light. My boy, you were too young for Darkness.”

“Are you finished?” Vader growls with stone cold menace.

The mystery Sith ignores the question. “Sidious usurped me before I could lure you out of their cult. And then he lured you himself. Sheev knew that he who controls the Chosen One, controls the Force. He knew that if he could stunt the development of the Sith’ari, he could remain in power. And so, Sidious now holds you back like the Jedi once held you back.” Again, those piercing yellow eyes seem to look through his mask and into his soul. It’s very uncomfortable. Holding his gaze steadily, the man practically purrs, “Everyone fears your power, Lord Vader.”

Is the strategy to stroke his ego? Well, it won’t work. Still, when Vader doesn’t respond, the sly stranger takes a few limping steps forward. He’s emboldened now and his words slow down. They are less a crescendo of revelation and more a slow unfolding truth. “All fear you because they recognize the destiny you portend. The Jedi and the Sith both know the role you will play in their downfall.”

“Those prophesies are fairytales,” Vader dismisses them outright. And if they’re not, they are just further evidence of his failures. It’s humiliating.

“You don’t believe that,” the man snaps as he approaches a few steps further. “Search your feelings and swallow your fears, Lord Vader. You are the Force made flesh, equal part saint and sinner, a fully human person and yet the greatest instrument of the Force. You brood in your castle. You brood on your ship. Miserable with your life, wondering why the Force has forsaken you. It has not! You have turned your back on it! Heed the call and serve your true Master: history! Fulfill your destiny, my son. Join me--”

Vader cuts him off. “We’re done. Don’t bother contacting me again.” He turns on heel and begins to exit the room.

And that’s when the zealous Sith makes his offer: "With my help, you can be rid of Sidious forever."

Vader half-turns to challenge, "So I can be your Apprentice instead?" His words drip with sarcasm. While deposing Sidious has much appeal, Vader won't exchange one lying, manipulative Master for another. He’s not the gullible fool he once was.

"My son, whether you will admit it or not, you need a teacher." 

"I have a Master. I don't need another." Vader long ago grew tired of having someone tell him what to do. He fell for the father figure Sith Master routine once already, he won’t do it again.

Vader resumes walking out. He’s done here.

The man calls after him, “You were once the favorite son of the Force . . . the golden boy . . . the next big thing . . . the one with big dreams and grand plans to rule the galaxy. Oh, I know, I know. We were all that once. It’s a hard fall. I know that too.”

Vader keeps walking. 

  
  
“Look at me!” the Sith commands, gesturing to his own deformities. “Do you think I have not suffered as you have suffered? Do you think I do not know loss and disappointment? I buried a real son, my Lord. He was ten years old when Sidious beheaded him while sleeping. My boy—my biological boy—didn’t even have the Force. He would never have been a threat to my Apprentice. But Sheev killed him anyway for spite. Like he killed my wife.” 

  
  
“So you want revenge?” Vader pauses and half turns again. “You want back the Empire you plotted?”

  
  
“I want more than revenge. I want to annihilate the ideology that led to their deaths.” 

  
  
“You cannot annihilate Darkness and the lust for power,” Vader counters. “You seem to have a heavy dose of it yourself,” he observes with disdainful sarcasm. 

  
  
“What you say is true, but I can end the Sith with your help,” the persistent stranger proposes.

  
  
“Get to the point,” Vader growls. The longer he lingers here, the more dangerous this is. He's not here to play games. This guy needs to spit it all out.

“Together without our combined strength, we can kill Sidious—"

“Sheev has all sorts of contingency plans,” Vader interrupts. “Clones and fleets and a slew of standing orders so all Hell will break lose if he dies.”

"All that matters is killing him. It won’t be hard to dispose of his loyalists," the other man contends.

Vader sees it differently. "Sheev will be hard to kill. He's been obsessed with immortality for years. He spends a lot of time pouring over old Sith books searching for secrets. He may have found some."

"He stole those books from my library. They contain knowledge, but not the knowledge he's looking for. I wasn't foolish enough to write that down."

"So he is still mortal?" Vader has wondered this.

"Let's hope so."

"You're not certain?"

"Well, he's got part of immortality down,” the Sith admits. “And thanks to that trick, you're alive."

Vader’s eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"

"There are rudimentary ways of prolonging and sustaining life in the Force. It's the reverse of Jedi Force healing. Instead of giving your Force energy to another, you take Force energy from someone. In the old days, there were Sith bodysnatchers. They were the Force equivalent of vampires, feeding off others and then jumping their consciousness to a new host body when finally their mortal form had aged too much. It's how Sidious killed your wife."

"What??" That gets his attention.

"Sidious drained the Force from your wife to sustain you when you were injured. He could have chosen any victim to kill, but he chose her. He knew the pain it would inflict."

"He killed Padme??" This possibility had never occurred to him. It’s like a punch to the gut to know that not just himself, but also his wife, fell victim to Darth Sidious. Suddenly, Vader is enraged. “Sheev killed Padme?”

"Absolutely,” the stranger confirms, then immediately promises, “I will help you get your revenge.” 

And, wait—is he being further manipulated? This could be more lies. Whoever this guy is, he’s offering all sorts of answers designed to lead him to the same conclusion: to trust him and to join his conspiracy. This is the mode of the Sith, Vader knows. They tell you insidious lies that you want to believe as inducement for their own goals. But he’s no fool. These are not the answers he needs: namely, where are the Rebels and where is Luke Skywalker? But even so, this maybe-Plagueis has got his attention.

The man considers aloud now. “The ability to drain and to restore with the Force is not the same as immortality, but it will still make Sheev harder to kill. That skill is far more concerning than whatever he’s done with cloning.”

“Why?” Vader is fishing for information. For the event that he and his son together need to kill Sidious.

“Come now, Jedi General,” his host smirks, “you know this. You can clone the body, but you cannot clone the soul. That’s why your clone troopers were individuals even if they were all twins. Moreover, cloning a Force sensitive being does not yield a Force sensitive being.” The other Sith chuckles. “Sheev probably could clone me. He has my left ear somewhere. But the most he will get is my big ugly Muun brother. Sheev will have to provide the Force part himself.”

“What if he is truly immortal?"

“Then he cannot he killed. He must be driven out. Like I was.”

“And yet, here you are,” Vader drawls with marked lack of enthusiasm.

“Yes. By grace of the Force, I endure,” maybe-Plagueis announces piously. There’s no Sith Master like a reformed Sith Master apparently.

Vader is cynical, as always. “Why would the Force allow two of you Dark immortals to wander around forever? Death is the way of things, the way of the Force.”

His host shrugs. “Perhaps it is to prove a point to those stubborn Jedi. Evil never dies, my son. Hope cannot die either. The two sides of the Force are eternal. They persist. Kill all the Jedi, and the Light still survives. Kill all the Sith, and you have conquered a religion, not evil. And that is the way it should be. The Force will endure, the Dark Side and the Light Side will persist, but the false idols we Force users have worshipped at for over a thousand generations will fade into history.”

They can agree on that, at least. Vader gripes, “Those orthodoxies are a lie. They need to die.”

“Assuredly. The only solution—and it is an ongoing solution, not an end—is to balance the Force. And for that, the galaxy needs you.”

Are they back to this? Vader shuts that discussion down. “It’s too late for that.”

“No, it is not.”

His insistence is tiresome. “Why would Darth Plagueis, who successfully plotted the return of the Sith Empire, want to destroy it all?” Is he just a hater looking to spoil things? Or is this guy looking to be top dog again? He must be tired of sitting on the sidelines as Sidious rules.

But the stranger has a different answer. “I have seen the Light,” he says with a completely straight face. The man has gravitas to spare when he speaks of the Force. “Forgive the pun, but it is true. I have seen the limits of the Sith religion. Like you as a young Jedi saw the errors of your cult’s ways. It is time to move past all that. You will be the one to lead us into the future.”

There he goes with the Chosen One crap again. Annoyed Vader drawls out with maximum skepticism, “Why does an exiled Sith Lord care so much about a Jedi prophecy?”

“Because it’s true. Let Master Yoda consider you the Chosen One, but Master Plagueis will consider you to be the coming of the Sith’ari. It’s merely semantics. We are both right. That prophecy is the one thing the two religions can agree upon. Each from their own perspectives, they arrived at the same truth. Do not discount that coincidence, for it is the will of the Force. One day soon, the Jedi and Sith distinction will no longer matter. Future Force users will learn the Dark and the Light, and they will wield them both. We will start with Luke Skywalker. You can teach him the Light. I will train you both in Darkness. Then together, we will destroy Sidious." 

Ah . . . there is the real offer. The guys sounds as if he truly believes it, but Vader is unimpressed. "You would use me to achieve your own revenge." 

"It is our revenge. And your opportunity. I taught Sheev Palpatine everything he knows. But I did not teach him everything I know." The cloaked man with the ruined face limps forward some more. Then he moves closer still. Now Vader can see up close the full extent of the damage on his face and it is considerable. "Sidious was a satisfactory Apprentice. But I knew that you would one day come along to replace him. And so, I saved all my best secrets for you. Sheev was only ever a placeholder for you, my son." 

_My son_. The lie grates. If it’s a lie. But Vader pushes those doubts out of his mind. "You speak treason."

"No, I speak as a Sith. It is a time-honored tradition for an Apprentice to supplant his Master. And in this case, it won’t be motivated by the usual selfish reasons. Consider the matter, Lord Vader. With my help, you could rule the galaxy with your son at your side. A dynasty of Skywalkers. Grandfather, father, and son. All allied and unstoppable in the Force, with the ultimate power of Light and Dark."

It's a surprisingly tempting thought, but quickly Vader brushes it aside. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because we are family. And because you will never get a better offer.” The man who looks like a walking corpse and speaks with the conviction of something from the holochron vault, steps closer still. He’s uncomfortably close, but Vader refuses to be the one to back up. He will not be intimidated.

“This is it—this is the endgame of the Force. You, me, and the boy. We will finish what you started with the destruction of the Jedi Order. We will overthrow Sidious and end the Sith. We will witness the final destruction of the old gods of Light and Darkness. Henceforth, there will be no more Jedi and no more Sith. A new era will commence.”

“Those are grandiose words.” Vader still refuses to cede ground. They are toe to toe now. Mere inches separate his mask from his counterpart’s gargoyle face. Oddly enough, the man’s expression is strangely hopeful, not threatening. Damn, this guy’s act is good.

“We are the new gods, the Skywalkers,” the mystery Sith urges. He looks proud. “My son, you were born for this. You were born for greatness.”

“I will not be your pawn,” Vader growls back.

“Take some time to reconsider. This is an open offer.”

“I will not be your pawn. That answer is final.”

The man nods his understanding. “I have waited a long time for this chance. I have shown much forbearance. But I warn you, Lord Vader, that I will do this with you or without you. I will be on the right side of history.”

Vader scoffs. “If you could do it on your own, you would already have done it.”

“True. But I can do it with Luke Skywalker.”

Vader blinks, then explodes before he can stop himself, “Don’t you go near him!” He’ll be damned if he lets Luke Skywalker fall into this zombie Sith’s influence. As it is, Astral is already in his sights.

“Long have I watched him—”

“Don’t you go near him!” Vader’s thumb is itching to light his sword and give this guy more scars.

But those piercing yellow eyes yet again look right through his mask. Giving him pause. And that’s the moment when the Sith renews his pitch. “Together, we can find him. Together, we can save him from Sheev.”

“I will not be your pawn!”

“Very well.” The man backs down. He sounds almost kindly now as he steps back. "Take care, son. Sheev will kill you if he learns that we have met."

“Then why is Milo here?” Vader gripes.

“Never fear, I will take this episode from his memory. He will not betray you. Milo is as loyal as they come. He will know how to contact me should you reconsider.”

“I won’t.”

The elder Sith looks him over one last time and smirks. “You do not disappoint, I’ll grant you that, Lord Vader.”

The stranger now heads for the door, moving slowly with a twisting, labored effort. Surely, there must be other grave wounds concealed beneath the man’s cloak, Vader thinks watching him go. He can’t help but wonder. Pain is something he himself understands well.

The meeting is over. In its wake, Vader is left with more questions than answers. He’s more confused and uncertain than ever. It’s as dispiriting as it is unnerving. And he's curious, despite his better judgment. So, he calls out after the retreating figure, "Wait--the other twin. Does she live?" Does he have a daughter?

“Yes.” His host turns as he lifts up his hood to conceal the worst of his disfigurement. “But for now,” the man replies, “she remains safely anonymous.”


	21. chapter 21

“Prince.”

He’s waiting for Astral when she returns home from work. And is it her imagination, or is the prince looking more like a Sith Lord each time she sees him? She’s only known him to wear costly, stately robes. The man dresses like he could have been a Chancellor of the Old Republic. But with each successive meeting, his rich hues have darkened. Tonight, the prince is in flowing black with the hood pulled down. Like he’s one of the acolytes Lord Sidious likes to have around.

As Astral shuts down the speeder, he tosses back his hood. It’s a casually elegant gesture that he’s clearly done many times. If this man is a Sith Lord, Astral thinks, he’s surely the most suave one ever.

“Good evening.” He smiles as he approaches. His misshapen face makes the expression lopsided, and that is strangely endearing. His deformities do not frighten Astral so much as arouse her pity. They are an odd mix with his debonair demeanor.

He waves a hand and her speeder door deploys. She’s flying open cockpit tonight, so he reaches down to collect her work bag with one hand as he offers her assistance with the other. She accepts the gentlemanly gesture and allows him to hand her out of the parked speeder.

Now setting aside her bag, the prince reveals the purpose of his visit. He reaches into a pocket to produce a datafile. “For Darth Vader,” he instructs.

Astral accepts the small device and turns it over in her hand. “More pictures?“

“Not this time. It contains the location of one of the Rebel outposts. It’s not the main one. But it’s something. Tell him it is safe to attack. Luke Skywalker is not there.”

“I see,” she gulps. This datafile will bring much death, Astral realizes.

The prince continues: “He needs to show more progress than just those few dissidents he rounded up. They weren’t true Rebels and Sheev may discover that. Already, there are those who publicly question the tactic.”

Astral looks up with concern. “So the holonet reports are true? Those night raids on civilians really did occur?” These days, she’s never sure if what’s on the holonet is fake news or not.

“The raids occurred,” the prince confirms. “Lord Vader manufactured some Rebels for execution for the cameras. Tonight someone leaked footage of the firing squads. Probably Lord Vader. In order to fool Sheev and the public, he must be convincing. It will be all over the holonet tomorrow,” her guest predicts. “Death always goes viral.”

“Oh.” And now, Astral fixates on his choice of word. “M-Manufactured?”

“Yes,” the prince nods. “He needed to show results after Sheev threatened to kill you for being a distraction.”

“Oooh. So you’re telling me that those people who died weren’t really traitors?” she squeaks. Astral puts a horrified hand to her mouth. Such injustice makes her queasy.

The prince shrugs off her concern. “They were guilty enough.” Watching her closely, he explains, “He did it to protect you.”

“How do you even know about that?“ she bristles, eyes narrowing.

“Reports of the raids were all over the holonet. Everyone knows.”

“No. How do you know about the Emperor’s threat?“ Astral demands more precisely.

The mystery prince is vague. “I have my ways.”

“Who are you?” Astral now wonders aloud. “Who are you really?“

He deflects the issue with a charming smile and a soothing tone. “Astral, I’m a friend. That’s all you need to know.”

She’s being placated and dismissed. It grates. Astral opens her mouth to object to this attitude, but he speaks first. “I won’t burden you with the knowledge of my identity. You are already in a very dangerous predicament.”

Those words sound scary. Astral gulps. Nonetheless, she digs in. “Who are you that you know where the Rebels hide? That you know the name of the Rebel pilot? That’s deadly knowledge.“

Again, the prince sidesteps the point. “We’re on the same side,” he assures her. “I want to help the pilot and to help Lord Vader. Like you do.”

“Why?” she persists. His motives matter.

Finally, she gets an answer. “Darth Sidious needs to go. He’s leading the galaxy and the Force in the

wrong direction. We will fall into a cycle of civil war careening from extremes of Dark and Light in alternate generations until someone balances the Force.“

“The Chosen One,” Astral whispers aloud.

“Yes.” Vanee had told her that Lord Plagueis believed the Jedi prophecy. It’s one more piece of the puzzle to confirm the prince’s suspected identity. “Help me to help Lord Vader help us all,” he now all but pleads. For a moment, the uber confident prince looks a little desperate.

Astral shifts beneath his searching gaze. “I thought you were meeting with him.”

“We met.”

“And?”

“He doesn’t trust me. He has good reason to be skeptical, but he has to get past that. Too much depends on it. Lord Vader has been let down before and he refuses to trust again. Sidious’ example has him fearing the worst of everyone.”

Once again, Astral fingers the datafile. “That’s why you’re giving me this. To get him to trust you.“

“In part. But I also want to protect you. Lord Vader needs you. He’ll fall to pieces if Sidious kills you too.”

Astral swallows hard at that statement. “But what about all those Rebels he supposedly found—“

“It won’t be enough. Lord Vader needs a military victory, not some intel operation. The people need to see that the threat of armed revolt has actually lessened. For that, they need to watch footage of smoking X-wings and dead Rebel combat troops.”

“Oh.” She shifts nervously at his blunt language.

The prince presses his case. “Sheev does not make idle threats, Astral. He killed the first Lady Vader. He may well kill you as the next. He won’t even need a pretext. You’re a private citizen and few will even notice. To prevent that, Lord Vader needs to get on his Master’s good side by making him look good. Sheev is very vain. It made him a natural politician back in the day.”

“Oh Gods,” Astral gasps as she processes his words, “so Lord Vader was right? He didn’t kill Padme?”

“Lord Sidious killed Lady Vader. I have no doubt.”

“How do you know for sure?” Astral demands, recalling that Lord Vader himself has never understood the circumstances of his wife’s death. 

“I felt it in the Force,” the prince answers. Then, he repeats, “Lord Sidious killed Lady Vader. I have no doubt.” The prince starts playing through the scenarios now. “If Sheev is smart, he won’t kill you. Instead, he will use you to control his Apprentice. But Sheev is a petty creature. He doesn’t always act in his best long-term interest.”

“Oh Gods.” Dismayed by this very frank talk of her demise, Astral covers her face with her hands. Her heart is pounding in her chest. Suddenly, her fingers are trembling as she relives that awful confrontation with the Emperor on the palace landing pad. She’s done her best during the past week to put it out of her mind, but it’s hard to ignore a death threat.

“Don’t go weak on me now,” the prince encourages, flashing that misshapen smile. “I know what a valiant woman you can be. Lord Vader needs you to be valiant again. Go to him, Astral. He needs the information on this datafile. He needs you as well. Remind him again of all he stands to lose by his stubborn doubt.”

“You don’t know where Luke Skywalker is, do you?“ Astral blurts out.

The prince surprises her when he admits, “I do not.”

“But you’re looking?“ she asks hopefully.

“Yes. We have to find him before Sheev learns of his existence.“

“We??“ she echoes weakly.

“Yes, we. We are strongest together. In time, I hope that Lord Vader will realize that.” Her visitor now resumes his dire warnings. “Astral, I don’t want to see the Emperor kill you. I want to see you safe and happy with Lord Vader once Sheev is gone and he ascends to be Emperor. You will make an excellent Empress,” the prince pronounces.

“E-Empress?” Astral rears back. That angle to this situation had never once occurred to her.

“Yes. But first, you need to live. You do want to live, don’t you?”

“Of course!”

“Then bring that datafile to him,” the prince instructs. “An attack on the Rebels will buy us more time. We need time.”

Looking down at the datafile once more, Astral knows this is taking things a step further than couriering pictures. This is providing information for a battle. There’s nothing harmless about this. But taking a deep breath, she decides. “I’ll do it.”

“Good girl,” the prince practically purrs. “Take care, Ms. Sidhu,” he bids her before he disappears.

Thoroughly spooked, Astral immediately calls Vanee. Can he get her to Lord Vader?

There is a moment of silence over the comlink before Vanee responds. “This is bad timing,” he tells her. “Lord Vader is in the Mid Rim. I can get you on the flagship, but I cannot accompany you. I must be here to assist Milo with a matter for Lord Sidious tomorrow.”

“I understand.”

“I will send a message ahead so you will be expected, but you will need to handle yourself.”

“I can do that.”

“Very good.”

“But Vanee,” Astral requests, “can I skip the visit to the palace? Can we meet someplace else? Last time—“

“Excellent idea.” Not surprisingly, Vanee knows all about the run-in with Lord and Lady Sidious. “I will come collect you in a Palace transport and we’ll get you on one of the shuttles on a capital ship in orbit.”

With that plan agreed, Astral is quickly put aboard a military shuttle headed for the _Executor._ It’s an overnight flight. Astral sleeps most of the way with her hand in the pocket of her cloak firmly clasped around the datafile the prince gave her.

She arrives to the bustling main hangar bay of the Imperial flagship. Astral walks down the shuttle ramp and looks around a moment at all the activity. Where does she go? What does she do? As she stands there uncertain, up walks a thin man in a sharp uniform. He eyes Astral a long moment. Then he introduces himself as Captain Maddux.

“You’re the informant. The palace guy said you were coming.”

She nods. “I’m Astral Sidhu. I must speak with Lord Vader.” It’s life or death. Her life or death. And a bunch of Rebels’ lives or deaths, too. Astral has no illusions about whether Lord Vader’s ends will justify his means. He’ll kill for her, she’s certain. And, she knows, he’d only be doing his job.

“He’s on the bridge.” The man gestures now to his younger colleague who walks up to join them. “Sergeant Cloud here will debrief you and you can be on your way.”

Astral refuses as politely as possible. “Thank you, but this information is only for Lord Vader.”

The new guy exchanges looks with his superior. Then, he speaks plainly. “Look, Lord Vader’s in a mood. This whole week he’s been grouchy. Way worse than usual. No one is interrupting him with some routine Intel report that is better managed by us.“

“But--“

“Lady, we’re not getting choked over what you overheard at some ex-Senator’s dinner party or wherever else you get your information on Coruscant.”

The senior guy nods to ratify this assessment. “Just give us what you know and we’ll get you home.”

Astral lifts her chin. “I’ll tell Lord Vader myself then. He can choke me instead.”

“That’s not an option. No civilians on the bridge.”

“Well, we’re at a bit of an impasse then,” Astral counters coolly.

“No, we’re not,” the Sergeant corrects her. “If you’re on the Imperial payroll, then you follow orders. That’s how it works. So let’s hear it, Lady. Tell us what you know.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but this information is for Lord Vader only.”

The senior man Captain Maddux steps in. “Cloud, look her up,” he orders. Turning back to Astral, he demands, “What’s your name again? Who manages you? Who’s your official report?”

“I’m Astral Sidhu and I report to Darth Vader,” she improvises.

“That’s highly unusual. He doesn’t manage informants directly. He’s too busy running the Empire. Now, spell your name.”

She does. Astral waits while the Sergeant looks her up on his datapad.

Predictably, she’s not on his list. “Nothing, Sir. She’s not on the roster of current and former informants.”

“I’m unofficial,” Astral volunteers.

“Maybe,” Captain Maddux muses, “Or you’re a Rebel spy trying to get close to our leader.”

“That’s ridiculous!” she snaps. “Vanee from the palace sent me. Let’s get Vanee on the comlink. Please, Sir, it’s very important.”

“Alright. Do it.”

But Vanee doesn’t answer. He must be doing whatever task he had today for Lord Sidious. That means there is no one to vouch for Astral. She is now effectively stymied by Lord Vader’s gatekeepers.

“Well, Ms. Sidhu, it looks like we’re out of options,” the Captain decides. “You will wait until Lord Vader frees up and we can ask him what to do with you.”

“Fine.”

“Take her to detention,” the Captain orders to his subordinate.

“What?” she gapes. “Detention??” Is she being arrested?

The Captain gives her a look. “You can cool your heels in a cell, Ms. Sidhu. I don’t have time to monitor you and there is no official clearance for you to be on this ship. Take her away, Cloud,” the Captain commands. “Then meet me back in the conference room. We’ve got new reports from the third round of probe droids coming in this morning. There’s will be lots to analyze.”

“Yes, Sir,” the Sergeant salutes and then propels Astral away. Thankfully, he saves her the indignity of handcuffs. She holds her head high as she is presented at the detention block for safekeeping.

And that’s how Astral ends up locked in a brightly lit small cell with a very hard bench. It’s a long wait. Hours long. To make matters worse, the whole time Astral is forced to listen to some unfortunate prisoner being tortured down the hall. His screams and pleas are extremely unsettling. It all serves to underscore the company she has found herself in. She’s a long way from the Alderaan Museum of Modern Art these days.

Finally, the door slides open and the towering figure of Lord Vader sweeps in. He has an entourage, like usual. They too crowd into the small space. Suddenly, Astral is surrounded by men curiously peering down at her seated on the bench.

“What are you doing here?” Darth Vader growls.

Astral stands and grumbles, “Nice to see you too, my Lord.” The last time she saw him they had just had sex in his medical pod and he was considerably more pleased. But not today. Today, he is in his full-on Lord Vader mode. It’s his usual act for his ever-present flock of subordinates. She tells herself not to feel hurt.

“What are you doing here?” he snaps again impatiently.

What does he think she’s here for? “I’m an informant. I’m here to inform.” This time it’s not just a ruse, it’s the truth.

“We’re on camera and this is being taped,” he reminds her.

“Then perhaps we should go someplace more private. Care to spring me from your brig, my Lord?” she complains. She’s a little stressed and it shows.

Her comment must come out a bit cheeky because it provokes nervous laughter from his uniformed posse. Lord Vader now turns to one of those aides and demands, “What is she doing here?” Now, Astral realizes she had misunderstood his question.

“Maddux said she was uncooperative, Sir,” the man answers. “She refused to yield her intel to him. Said it was for your eyes and ears only.”

“So, he thought a holding cell was the appropriate solution?”

“I believe he was suspicious since she’s not in the records.”

“She’s who I met on Coruscant ten days ago,” Vader informs his men. “We detoured for her information. In future, I wish to know immediately when she makes contact or comes aboard.”

“Yes, my Lord. I will inform Maddux.”

“Come,” Lord Vader beckons to Astral. “Carry on, General,” he instructs the man at his right. The general salutes to accept command as she and Lord Vader exit the cell together.

“Sorry about that,” he says in a low voice as he momentarily breaks character. But he is immediately back to being the public hard ass Darth Vader in the very next breath, griping at a young officer at the detention area command desk to stop goofing off.

Once outside the brig, they exit into the main areas of the star destroyer. This isn’t like the last time Astral was on Lord Vader’s flagship. It’s daytime and the corridors are brimming with uniformed personnel. But all hands immediately defer to Lord Vader. The crowd parts as men and women literally shrink from the oncoming Sith Lord who strides into their midst. Heads rise and fearful eyes lift to track his progress. Then, they slant to Astral following in his wake. She’s a civilian on a warship, wearing a dress and not a uniform. She’s out of place and it shows. It earns her a lot of curious looks.

“I feel very conspicuous,” she huffs, slightly out of breath when she and Lord Vader finally slide into an empty elevator together. He’s walking too fast, as usual. The man races through his star destroyer.

“Relax. Everyone is looking at me.”

He might be right. “Everyone is terrified of you.”

“That’s because I’m terrifying.”

She shoots him a look. His terrifying nature and hair-trigger temper are what kept his staff from approaching him today and landed her in a cell. “Don’t be too proud,” Astral tells him sourly. “It’s not a compliment.”

“It is for a Sith.” The shiny black mask turns her direction as they stand next to one another. He sounds faintly bemused. “If I were Sheev, I’d think you were flirting by calling me scary.” And is it her imagination, or is Lord Vader the one flirting?

She snorts. “If you were Sheev, I’d be running away from you, not following you. Besides, I don’t think I’m his type.”

“You’re not. You’re much too good,” he rumbles softly. “I’m glad you’re here,” he suddenly confesses. “You’re a nice surprise. It’s been a bad week.”

Yes, she can tell. Even with his face covered by the mask, Astral can sense Lord Vader’s weariness. His discouragement. But before she can reply, the elevator door slides open and the opportunity for conversation is over. They resume their long march to his quarters. When finally they arrive and the doors slide shut behind them, Astral breathes a sigh of relief. “This ship is huge. I forgot how big it is.”

“It’s a super star destroyer. It’s the biggest ship in the Navy.” He is apologetic again. “It’s so big and so crowded that I didn't sense you come aboard from the bridge.”

It’s the biggest ship in the Navy and he lives in all two hundred square feet of it, Astral realizes as she watches Lord Vader wave a hand to open his small medical pod. So little of this man’s life is comfortable. All his wealth and power don’t seem to make much difference. They certainly haven’t brought him happiness. Still, she plays along. She wants to cheer him up. So Astral muses lightly, “I guess it’s nice to be the boss.”

“I’m not the boss,” he sighs as he offers a gloved hand to help her climb into his private space. “The boss gets a Death Star and I get this.”

Once inside, Lord Vader snatches off his mask as soon as the oxygen jets flood the small space with breathable air. “Can I kiss you now?” he asks with an impish grin.

She smiles back at his bare face, noting how tired he looks. It’s so good to see him. But they have important matters to discuss. “You can kiss me and more once we get our business out of the way.”

“Business?” His eyes narrow.

“For you.” She produces the latest datafile from the prince.

Lord Vader snatches it up and snarls, “So you are here to inform.” He doesn’t sound pleased.

“Yes.” Was there any doubt?

“Vanee told me you were coming. I figured he was playing matchmaker again. He loves to meddle—“

Is Lord Vader angry? Astral interrupts to explain, “I asked Vanee to get me on your ship. I was afraid to go back to your palace. I don’t want to risk it. And Vanee said you weren’t anywhere near Coruscant—“

“So you’ve seen him again? Your mystery prince?” Lord Vader turns the datafile over in his gloved hand. Then, he closes his fist around it and starts to squeeze. Hard.

“No, don’t!” Astral objects, fearing he will destroy it. “You’ll break it!”

But that’s the point, apparently. “I can’t accept this. As long as you are an effective courier, he will continue to use you like this.”

“My Lord, stop! Stop!” Astral attempts to pry open his viselike grip.

Lord Vader is irritated. He shakes her off and snarls, “I will not be his pawn and neither shall you!”

“Don’t destroy it! You need it! We need it!” Astral wails as she renews her efforts.

Exasperated, he stops and begins skewering her with questions. “What’s on it?”

“The location of an ancillary Rebel base. Luke’s not there so you are safe to attack it.”

“When did you get it?”

“Last night. The prince was on the terrace waiting for me this time.”

“I’ll bet. He probably couldn’t wait to renew the negotiations through you.”

She nods. “He said you met.”

“We met,” Lord Vader confirms grimly.

“He said you don’t trust him.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, I think this is a peace offering,” she decides. “He said destroying this base would get Lord Sidious off your back and protect me.”

“It might.”

“Then use it!”

“I don’t need it.”

“We do!” Astral now lays bare her fear, stoked further by the meeting with the prince last night. “He said the Emperor killed Padme and he might kill me too! He said that the Emperor doesn’t make idle threats and he always follows through! My Lord, if you don’t show progress, I’m a dead woman!” She has nightmares about that outcome.

Lord Vader disagrees, “I won’t let it come to that.”

“What makes you think you can stop him?” she challenges.

“You don’t trust me?” he retorts.

“You know I do! But I have seen him punish you—“

Lord Vader looks very determined now. “Astral, I won’t let Sheev hurt you. I won’t let him hurt anyone else I care about. I’ll die before that happens—“

“I don’t want that!” she interrupts. That’s not the solution. “What good is it if both of us are dead??”

His face hardens now. “He frightened you. He frightened you and sent you to me with information to use. So you would plead his case for him and so I would have more reason to trust him.”

“Yes. I guess so.” Astral nods along. “I still don’t know how he knew about your Master’s threats against me . . .”

“Milo is how he knew. Milo is his spy,” Lord Vader reveals.

“Milo?” she nearly chokes. “You mean Lord Sidious’ own servant?”

“Yes. He was at the meeting.”

“Wow.” Astral blinks. “I guess that’s how he gets his information.” She recalls now that Milo had been there last week on the palace landing platform with the Emperor and his wife. And all those months ago back at the castle, Milo had been the one who was conveniently close to help Vanee out of a jam on his supply run. That’s how Astral had met Milo—before Lord Vader threw him out, that is. Just how much does the mystery prince know? Astral wonders.

“Your prince is playing the long game, that’s for sure,” Darth Vader grumbles. “And he’s playing it well.”

Astral frowns and suggests, “I think you need to tell me about your meeting, my Lord.”

He does. Astral gets an overview of the reveal of Darth Plagueis the Wise and his claim to have created Anakin Skywaker accidentally as the Chosen One. Then Astral hears the pitch for an alliance to find Luke Skywalker, depose Lord Sidious, and balance the Force. She’s cautiously convinced. Lord Vader is not. It immediately becomes an argument.

“This is what they do—the Sith figure out what you want but can’t have, and they promise it to you. So you need to sign up with them to get it. I know because I fell for it once.” Two decades later, Lord Vader is extremely bitter still. Understandably so. “Sheev said that he knew how to keep people from dying. That he knew how to keep people alive. He lied! This guy’s lying too!” Lord Vader rages.

“Can you really do that?“ Astral asks skeptically. “Can you cheat death?”

“Maybe. Sheev’s been trying to learn that trick for years. I tried too. Supposedly, Darth Plagueis knew how.”

“And that’s why he’s still alive today as this prince?” The prince’s wounds definitely look severe—the forehead wound looks especially fatal—and yet he still lives. Could the Force be the answer?

“I don’t know—maybe,” Lord Vader grumbles. “But if he’s Plagueis, that’s even more reason not to trust him.”

Astral isn’t following. Because isn’t the enemy of your enemy your friend? Especially if that enemy is your kin? “Why?” she challenges.

Grumpy Lord Vader is impatient with her question. “Look, I’ve fallen for this before. I know what he’s doing. I’ve done it myself to others. Because as a Sith, first you are the prey and then you become the predator, plotting the downfall of another like someone plotted for you. You can’t trust these guys! Never trust a Sith!” he hisses.

“I trust you,” Astral counters.

“That’s different.”

“What if the prince is telling the truth?” she asserts. “What if he does want to balance the Force? What if he really is your father?”

Lord Vader doesn’t want to hear it. “He’s not my father!”

“But—“

“I built a droid once, that didn’t make me its father.”

“So it’s true?” Astral yelps. “He did create you?“

Lord Vader turns away. It’s a small space, so he can’t get far. “It might be true,” he concedes. “I don’t know . . . it doesn’t matter,” he mutters. But clearly, it does. Lord Vader looks haunted by the very thought.

“What if he could help you?” she ventures.

“Help me do what?”

Even though they are alone in his medical pod, Astral whispers the forbidden words, fearful to speak them aloud. “Kill your Master.”

Lord Vader shakes his head. “Plagueis lost to Sidious once already. What makes you think he can kill him now?”

“He’d have your help,” she points out the obvious. “Think of all the good you could do as Emperor,” Astral urges. She firmly believes that Lord Vader is the leader the Empire needs for the future.

Again, he shoots her an annoyed look as he schools her on the ways of the Sith. “Guys like him don’t just fade away, Astral. He’s not some fairy godmother who is going to solve all my problems and then magically disappear. It’s more likely to go like this—we kill Sheev, he kills me, then he takes Luke as his Apprentice. No Master wants a broken-down wreck like me when he can have the newer, improved version.”

Astral crosses her arms. “Have you seen him? The prince of all people might understand what it means to be you.”

Lord Vader dismisses her. “You’re naive.”

“Yeah? Well, you sound as paranoid as your Master,” she fires back.

The comment angers him further. He waves a gloved hand beneath her nose as he condescends. “You are way out of your league in all of this.”

Maybe so, but Astral persists. “If he’s Plagueis, maybe he could give you Padme back.”

That suggestion earns her a cold, yellow-eyed glare of reproach.

She endures it. “Admit it. You’ve thought about it,” she whispers, her unflinching eyes meeting his steadily. “It could be like you originally wanted. You, your wife, and your children together . . . Well, one of the children.”

Lord Vader exhales long and hard. “That dream died decades ago.”

“No, it didn't.” It persisted for years and they both know it. And while he may have given up hope of reviving his wife, the dream of reuniting his family is a big part of why Lord Vader is so obsessed with Luke Skywalker. No doubt it’s also why the prince’s paternity claim is so troubling.

“I won’t stand in the way,” Astral offers softly. More than anything, she wants for Lord Vader to be happy. She will step aside for Padme. Astral knows he loves her still. And as his wife, she has the prior claim to his affections.

Lord Vader sighs again and looks away. “I’m not sure I want that any more. Even if it were possible . . . Padme and I . . . Well, she would hate who I am now.”

His resigned tone makes Astral cringe inwardly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Lord Vader now tells Astral the specifics of his wife’s death. “Your prince claims that Sheev drained Padme of the Force to keep me alive when I was injured. Her Force sustained me.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Astral understands so little of the Force.

“It means she died so that I would live,” Lord Vader answers miserably. His words are glib, but his voice is choked with heavy emotion. Astral sees that the news his Master may have had a hand in his wife’s death has added a whole new layer of guilt to the situation. This claim plus the Plagueis paternity claim have greatly unsettled Lord Vader. It puts those two officers’ reaction to Astral’s arrival in perspective. Their fears of getting choked for irking their touchy boss may have been very valid.

“The Force is the energy of life itself. Drain someone of their Force and you kill them,” Lord Vader explains glumly as he stares at his gloved hands.

“I see. Is it true? Did he kill her?” she wonders as she moves to lay a comforting touch on his arm.

“Who knows?” Lord Vader despairs. “Who knows if any of what he claims is true?”

She has no answer for that. She just stands there in silent solidarity with stressed out Lord Vader. She sees now that he has been brooding and fretting and raging internally since the interview with the prince turned his world upside down a week ago.

“So what do we do now?” Astral asks after a long moment.

“I don’t know,” he admits. The very fearsome, always efficient, and hyper focused Lord Vader is at a loss for what’s next. “I’ll attack this base, I guess. I can use his information even if I don’t join his cause.”

Astral has an attack of conscience now. “I don’t want you executing more people to protect me.” She feels guilty about those dissidents who were killed to placate the Emperor.

Lord Vader doesn’t deny they were killed on a pretext. Instead, he argues, “This time, these are real Rebels—“

“Do you hear me?” Astral demands. It comes out a bit shrilly, but this is important. “No one dies for me. Take some prisoners, will you? No more firing squads.”

“These are real Rebels in armed revolt,” he snaps back. “They don’t get due process and a trial.” Lord Vader shoots her a look. “We’re at war. We’re way past that.”

“But—”

“I will handle Sheev myself,” he informs her curtly. “I didn’t protect Padme from him. I will protect you. That’s why you brought me this datafile, right?”

Uh . . . “Yes,” Astral concedes. 

Truthfully, Astral is very confused about what she’s doing. Because while she’s not really a Rebel, she knows that the Empire needs reform. She also knows that the Rebels aren’t responsible for Alderaan—the Emperor is. And if he has his way, he’ll construct another planet killing space station soon. The Emperor is the real villain here, Astral firmly believes. Sheev Palpatine must be stopped. She wholeheartedly agrees with the Rebels on that goal.

But here she is, facilitating a major strike against the Rebels because she thinks Lord Vader is the best choice to lead the galaxy. Because he will be acceptable to the hardline Imperialists but also willing to triangulate to adopt some of the Rebels ideals. Because the return to pure democracy the Rebels want is the wrong solution. Democracy works for local system and world-level governments, but not for the galaxy as a whole. Everyone learned that lesson in the Clone Wars a generation ago except Mon Mothma and her followers.

So, Astral is throwing the Rebels under the transport bus to save her own skin and to buy some time. She’s ostensibly an Imperial informant even though treason is her ultimate aim. She’s a rebel, just not a Rebel. Drawn in deep by her relationship with Lord Vader and his maybe-father, the art loving Sith prince. But those men are the last, best hope for a better future. They are the only ones who have any hope of actually defeating the Emperor. Unless, of course, this Luke Skywalker kid turns out to be as special as Lord Vader hopes.

It’s a moment of horrifying clarity for Astral to realize that she has evolved into this role. She’s never been a very political person. She liked to stay informed, but she was far from an activist, let alone a conspirator. But a chance meeting with Lord Vader together with the destruction of her home planet changed all that. It made the politics she watched on the holonet horrifyingly real. And now that the Emperor himself has threatened her life, this fight could not be more personal. For she is in the crosshairs of the power mad Lord Sidious.

And so, she too has begun making morally suspect decisions and ethical compromises. No one who plays the game of power at these levels has clean hands, she is fast realizing. It makes her more understanding of Lord Vader’s views on the Force and the prince’s stated goal of bringing balance. Because it seems a very hard thing to combine purity of purpose with always pure actions. Life doesn’t necessarily present those options. And yet, you still have to make choices and move forward. 

Standing opposite her, Lord Vader suddenly shudders. It gets her attention. “What? What is it? Are you okay??” She’s immediately at his side. “Sit down,” she urges as she scrutinizes his chest plate for signs of physical distress.

There are none.

“I’m fine,” he waves her off. “I’m fine.” But she can’t help but notice that Lord Vader has his eyes tightly shut. He raises leather gloved fingers to pinch at his temple. It’s a gesture that worries her coming from a man with his high pain tolerance.

“You’re not fine. What’s wrong?” she frets. “Tell me!”

He drops his hand and blinks fast as he regains his composure. “I’m fine. There was a disturbance in the Force, that’s all.”

“A w-what?”

“Something important has happened.”

“Something important?” Astral echoes blankly. “How do you know?”

“The Force tells me.” Lord Vader must see that she is befuddled, so he explains, “It’s like throwing a stone into a still pond. It creates ripples that radiate out. Those of us who sense the Force, sense the ripples.”

“That looked like more than a ripple,” she breathes out.

He nods. “The keener your Force sensitivity, the stronger you experience the disturbance.”

“Does this happen often?” she asks warily.

His yellow eyes find hers. “The last time I felt a disturbance in the Force was when Alderaan was destroyed.”

“O-Ooh,” she stammers, now fearing the worst.

“Not just anything makes a disturbance in the Force,” Lord Vader mutters. He looks unnerved and that makes her frightened. “I fear something terrible has happened.”


	22. chapter 22

_I am your father_.

An ugly, threatening stranger in black tells him that news out of the blue. It’s an incredible claim that can never be verified . . . or disproved. There’s no DNA test for the Force, Vader seethes.

_I am your father_.

I left you with others for safekeeping to live ignored for decades until this moment. But now that he’s finally useful, his so-called father conveniently shows up. To use him, of course. Because that’s what the Sith do--they deceive and they use. Darth Vader does it himself.

_I am your father_.

It’s manipulation at its most sly, and it is extremely effective. For try as Vader does to ignore it, he cannot. The words are insidious and inescapable. They burrow deep and take root. Poking at an old hurt he thought he got over many years ago. But childhood traumas have a way of lingering. Of seeping into your psyche and feeding your insecurities long into adulthood. Because he might be Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, but some part of him will always be a little bastard slave boy with an explosive chip in his neck.

_I am your--_

“All walkers and troop transports have dropped.” The lead communications officer’s report interrupts Vader’s brutal reverie. “All troops will debark for ground assault. Command is reporting minimal initial resistance.”

Whatever. Vader doesn’t bother to respond. He’s standing on the bridge of the _Executor_ away from the command crew facing out the triangular shaped windows. Down on the surface of the planet below, an attack on the remote Rebel outpost has begun. Veers is in command so Vader passively monitors the fight from orbit. There’s nothing but routine reports so far, so Vader resumes his brooding. He’s still so terribly, miserably, hopelessly preoccupied with the news from the meeting on Naboo.

_I am your father_.

When his mother told him that he had no father, he was too young to understand what that meant. Only later when he was wise to the ways of the world did he realize that his mother was probably protecting him. Shielding him from the knowledge that he was the result of rape, he figured. Shmi Skywalker had been owned by a Hutt at the time and they aren’t known for their treatment of slaves. What boy wants to know that his father is a criminal? To grow up worried that he too will be the bad seed? His mother had likely decided to sidestep the issue altogether, but to do it in a way that wouldn’t leave her boy idolizing an absent man who would never be part of his life. She was lying to be kind, he surmised. And truthfully, he was grateful for that mercy.

Never once had the whole ‘virgin birth’ concept ever occurred to him as the explanation for his conception. That sort of thing belongs in fairytales and myths. Or in religious symbolism and concepts of purity and sin from days of old. No one believes that stuff anymore . . . or so he thought. But then, he learned that the Jedi Order did. And that’s when he first fell for the lie of the Chosen One.

_I am your father_.

What makes a father? Is it just blood? Could it really be the Force? Or is it time, attention, and love irrespective of any biological connection? 

The Jedi didn’t offer parent roles, but they did assign a pseudo-parent in the form of a Jedi Master. That’s where Vader first began looking for a father. Qui-Gon died days after they met, so young Anakin Skywalker shifted that exalted status to Obi-Wan. Later, the honor would slowly inure to wily Sheev Palpatine as well. Together, the two men were the competing forces in his life, the guiding influences from the Light and the Dark. Obi-Wan was the consummate Knight who quoted the Order’s dogma chapter and verse while Sheev urged him to look beyond the limitations of the Jedi. One nagged at him while the other goaded him. One criticized while the other encouraged. To be the protégé of either man would be a mark of distinction. But to merit both their close attention? Well, it went to his head. Feeding the ego of the insecure kid who was desperate to believe his golden boy Chosen One status to replace the ugly truth of his bastard slave origins.

In time, he would rebel and assert himself, for every boy one day must become a man and shake off the mantle of his father’s aegis. But here’s the thing no one tells you—it’s a bittersweet conflict, mingled with equal parts fear, loathing, and love. For confronting your authority figure is not an easy thing to do. But it is inevitable, for at the heart of the relationship lies an undercurrent of competition. The boy needs to achieve and to supersede, and the father wants that too. But not too soon. And not without due respect to his mentor. Part of the role of the boy is to wait his turn. And to chafe at waiting his turn.

But his younger self had been impatient and arrogant. Certain that he was the equal of the most accomplished Jedi Masters and confident that his role as Sith Apprentice would be merely temporary. Looking back, his hubris was cringeworthy. Dooku has been right—twice the pride, double the fall. Sure enough, young Darth Vader’s day of reckoning came. It was an especially hard lesson. One father left him for dead on a lava riverbank. Another father enslaved him in guilt and hate. He’s been stuck there ever since. Feeling the fool for ever having believed he was the Chosen One. 

“Imperial troops have entered the base.” The lead communications officer continues to narrate the battle’s progress. “Walkers are targeting the main generator now.”

Still, Vader makes no comment. All is going as planned. There’s nothing down below on the surface that matters much anyway. So Vader resumes dwelling on the more pressing conflict underlying this budding civil war—the future of the Force, the role of the Chosen One, and the offer of Darth Plagueis. His hyper-focused, technocrat generals wouldn’t understand any of this, he knows. They think his sad devotion to the ancient religion to be an eccentricity. They analyze strategy in terms of political capital and military might, completely missing the ebb and flow of the invisible hand of the Force. As smart as many in the Imperial hierarchy are, they are small minded in their outlook. They don’t know the power of the Dark Side, and they would never believe the powers attributed to Darth Plagueis the Wise. But Vader does. It worries him.

_I am your father_.

The statement shouldn’t matter, but it does. Because fathers matter. It’s not always a popular sentiment to voice, but it’s a truth the fatherless know keenly. But it’s no disrespect to his mother’s efforts. Shmi Skywalker was an amazing woman who did all she could for her son. But a father isn’t something a mother can be. It’s a very different dynamic.

A mother dries your tears, but a father tells you to shake it off. A mother cuddles and kisses while a father slaps your back and gives high fives. A mother says I’m sorry you lost and a father says practice more and perhaps you will win. It’s encouragement either way, but with a contrasting spin. And those kids lucky enough to have both a mother and a father get both versions of parenting. The soft nurturing and the practical good advice.

_I am your father_.

One thing’s for damn sure, Vader isn’t going to break the news to Luke Skywalker so bluntly. It’s a delicate matter that demands tact. You don’t just put it out there for someone to react to. And you certainly don’t supplement the tale with noise about how the whole thing had been an accident that had occurred when you were goofing around with the Dark Force and went too far. That part had been extremely galling. And it’s not like Luke Skywalker wasn’t an accident, too. He and Padme weren’t looking to have children until the war was over and he was out of the Jedi Order. But he’s not going to tell his kid that. Geez . . . ‘you were an accident’ was every bit as annoying as the ‘search your feelings’ lecture Plagueis gave him. Vader vows never to use those crappy lines on Luke Skywalker.

What will he say when he meets his grown son for the first time? Vader isn’t sure. He knows he needs to impress upon the kid just how dangerous Sheev is to him. But for that advice to sink in, Luke will need to trust him. And, well, if Luke’s reaction to him is anything like his own reaction to Plagueis, that will be a tall order. The parallels between the two situations have not escaped Vader. He’s choosing to view that interview in the Naboo Temple as a master class in how not to handle his initial meeting with Luke Skywalker.

“Shield generator destroyed,” the officer continues to update the battle status.

Vader is largely unconcerned. General Veers has things under control on the ground. By all accounts, the Rebels are overrun. With the might of the Imperial war machine focused on this small, poorly defended encampment, it’s only a matter of time.

This mission will be a certain success. And then, Vader plans to pin a medal on everyone and hand out promotions to underscore what an important victory it is. And in a way, this is a key victory from a morale standpoint. At long last, a year into the fight, the Empire will take out a Rebel military target.

He needs this victory, Vader knows. Probably more than the Empire needs this victory. Things are in flux now, and Vader wants to be better positioned to handle whatever is coming next. For that disturbance in the Force had been unsettling. In its aftermath, Darth Vader is subdued. He’s given up trying to tease out its meaning. There are too many possibilities, few of them good. But all of the most likely scenarios involve Luke Skywalker.

Force sensitivity has always held this sort of dread. It’s often too much knowledge. Vader would rather have woken one day to the news of his mother’s passing than to have the apprehension of waiting for it to occur while being powerless to prevent it. And now, yet again, he has knowledge of something important occurring. Something important enough that that the Force recoiled from it. Like it had with the destruction of Alderaan. Or maybe the Force had resounded with it. Like praise from hundreds of thousands of unseen mythical angels. Good news? Bad news? It’s anyone’s guess. But it was big news, and that’s what worries him.

Luke Skywalker, where are you? And what are you up to that the Force reacts so strongly? Time is running out to find him, Vader fears. For one thing is clear: there’s no way his Master didn’t sense that disturbance. It adds yet another wrinkle of danger to the situation. Sheev’s curiosity will be piqued.

An officer now approaches Vader to report. “My Lord, our sentry ships report that several Rebel crafts are fleeing the surface.”

“Launch the fighters,” Lord Vader responds.

“Shall we ready your ship?”

“No.” Vader isn’t about to jump in his TIE if Luke Skywalker isn’t around to chase. He’ll let the regular squadron earn their pay today.

‘Take prisoners’ had been Vader’s only edit to Veers’ battle plan. The order was not a gesture to accede to Astral’s wishes. It was pure expediency—Vader wants live enemy combatants to interrogate. Those Rebels are going to wish he’d ordered no quarter by the time he’s through with them. But there’s no other way to get the information he seeks. Vader is determined to discover the location of the main Rebel base. There he will find Luke Skywalker, he’s sure of it.

Thinking back once more to the offer in the Temple that has dogged him and tempted him, Vader doubles down on his strategy. He doesn’t need Darth Plagueis’ help. He will find and reclaim Luke Skywalker on his own like he planned all along.

Astral disagrees with his decision. It was more serious discussion than a true argument, but she made her feelings known. Is Darth Plagueis his father? And if so, can they trust him? Astral is inclined to answer ‘yes’ to both questions. He leans towards ‘no.’ ‘No’ as in ‘Hell no.’

It had evolved into a discussion of fatherhood. Of what it means to need a father and what it means to be a father. And of the lasting impact of growing up a fatherless child. It’s Astral’s story, his own story, and now Luke Skywalker’s story too, Vader realizes glumly. Perhaps that’s why he cannot get the topic off his mind.

Astral had spoken of her own father, who was a distant and occasional figure in her life following her parents’ divorce when she was very young. Her mother wasn’t bitter, Astral explained, but she never remarried. Her life after the divorce was confined to music and raising her daughter. Men were an afterthought. Something optional but not necessary for a fulfilling life.

Seeing this growing up, Astral had drawn a different conclusion for herself. She wanted what she didn’t have: a traditional nuclear family with a mom, a dad, and kids. It’s part of why her own divorce had been so devastating. She felt like a failure, Astral admitted. And as the years went by and there was no second marriage, her parents’ example kept Astral from opting for single motherhood. I didn’t want to start out doing it wrong, she told him. It’s one thing to end up widowed or divorced, but it’s another thing to intentionally start out that way. Astral was emphatic that she didn’t want to choose to raise a child without a father. Even a bad father is better than no father, she had claimed.

It was a very revealing conversation. For Vader realized just how unreliable the men in Astral’s life have been. Perhaps that’s why she’s so skittish about commitment. Because as far as he can tell, the men who committed to Astral didn’t follow through. Maybe she just can’t bear to risk being let down again.

But if Astral was once angry about her parents’ split, she has moved past it. It took me a very long time to understand my parents as adults and not just my parents, she explained. They were young once with hopes and dreams. They made mistakes and endured disappointments, just like we do. But growing up, I couldn’t see that. I only saw that they were apart and I wanted to fix that. If not for them, then for myself for my own life. I guess I was determined not to make their same mistakes. But instead, Astral sighed, I made different ones. And in the end, I am alone just like my mother.

She had looked bleak when she said this. So, Vader told her firmly, “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

“Neither are you,” she had responded solemnly. Only afterwards did Vader realize that is the closest Astral has come to a real commitment.

But as a practical matter, they are both alone a lot. Living apart is pretty much a prerequisite for their relationship. And that’s frustrating. Vader swore he would never do the long-distance thing again and yet here he is repeating that mistake. It’s times like these when he especially wishes that he and Astral could live together. Because conversations about the past and what it means for the present and for the future are conversations he can only have with Astral. She is the sounding board he wants. This is the companionship he needs. But circumstances require it to be meted out in small doses.

In fact, Astral had left the ship later that same day. She had to get back to work. One day of calling in sick was all she could afford to take. Vader is trying to be patient with that attitude. He knows how much Astral values her work. But he wants more of Astral. Their stolen moments are not enough. I will be on Coruscant next week, he promised before they parted. They will have that to look forward to.

But it never happens. Because a week later, Vader finds himself dropping out of hyperspace into the Hoth system. The raid on the Rebel outpost was publicly explained as having evolved out of the roundup of dissidents on several systems. That was a lie, of course, but it was a good justification for the prior executions that had yielded some public backlash. The raid on the outpost, however, does yield actual useful information. Equipment analyzed from the defeated Rebel cell shows repeated transmissions into a remote sector of the Outer Rim. Putting that fact together with a fragment from a probe droid report, Vader discovers the location of the hidden base: the sixth planet of the Hoth system. It’s an ice planet supposed to be devoid of human life forms. And that makes it a very good place to hide.

“That’s it,” Vader decides, studying a grainy photograph of a power generator half buried in snow as he ignores the dissenting static coming from that pompous fool Admiral Ozzel. “That’s it. The Rebels are there.” And he’s sure Luke Skywalker is with them. “Set your course for the Hoth system. General Veers,” he commands, “prepare your men.”

This will be another ground assault like with the outpost. Same battle plan. The fleet will emerge into the system to block all means of escape. Walkers and ground troops will destroy the shield generator and power facilities on the ground and overrun the base. Vader gives orders to take prisoners, but to ensure that no one escapes. He refuses to let Luke Skywalker slip through his fingers.

To make certain, Vader himself will be leading the ground troops. It will be like old times back in the Clone Wars when he strode into battle with a lightsaber in his hand and the 501st Legion at his back. He wants to meet his Jedi son as a warrior on the field of battle. So Luke will know what it means to be the son of the erstwhile Republic General Anakin Skywalker, the now Imperial Sith warlord Darth Vader. For no matter his son’s lefty politics, Vader wants his respect.

Truthfully, he is so excited that can barely contain his anticipation. His son . . . he’s going to finally meet his son. Somewhere in the Force, Vader is sure Padme is cheering him on.

This will begin to make things right. To reunite his family torn apart by the conniving Jedi. To undo the damage caused by his violence with Padme. To subvert Sheev who may have killed his pregnant wife but not his unborn children. There is enough wrong to go around. The Jedi, the Sith, himself—all are to blame for the fate of the Skywalkers. But now, after all these years, it is time to move forward.

For the first time in a long, long time, Darth Vader feels hopeful. Truly hopeful.

Luke represents a second chance, Vader firmly believes. A fresh start to make better decisions with the wisdom gleaned from his mistakes. At long last, Vader has atoned for the Hell of his own making and the Force now judges him deserving. Protecting and training Luke Skywalker will give purpose to his years of suffering and offer him a way past his failures.

But Vader has no misconceptions that Luke will be happy to meet him. His kid probably hates him. Darth Vader is the most hated man in the galaxy with good reason. But he owns who he is, and he resolves to be patient. He will let his son rage and accuse. Giving vent to Dark emotions is necessary, lest they bottle up over time and explode. The Jedi were wrong to counsel Force users to suppress their emotions. But after that initial reaction, Vader thinks that his boy will begin to listen. He has a hunch that giving Luke Skywalker an enemy with a familiar name and a secret past will intrigue him to want to know more.

But no matter what, Vader vows to keep his cool. He’s no young hothead Darth hopped up on Dark power and desperation. There won’t be any replay of his bitter argument with Padme that ended in violence. In maturity, Vader is measured and cautious. He no longer lets his emotions get the best of him.

But, oh, the anticipation. Vader can hardly wait. He has so much to tell young Luke. Whatever tale Owen Lars and Obi-Wan told his son about his origins, Vader is certain that their version omitted a lot. But his teaching will just begin with their private family history. Vader plans to share his truths of the Force. So his son will understand that the Jedi were never as pure in heart or in deed as they claimed. And for Luke to know that the Dark Side has its place. Dark power should be learned, not feared. For to resist Darkness is to deny half of the Force. Half of human nature, too. Balance should be the goal, not a single-minded pursuit of either knowledge or power. To achieve that balance, his son will need to learn the ways of the Jedi and the ways of the Sith. Vader is uniquely positioned to teach him.

‘Pass on what you have learned’ is a maxim as old as the Jedi Order. It is also the custom of the Sith. The Master tutors the Apprentice until he is strong enough to rise up. As the Master dies, the Sith are reborn in the new Master. A Sith is dead. Long live the Lords of the Sith. For the knowledge of each and every Sith resides in the current Sith Master.

It’s not unlike how the teaching of the Jedi Order resides in himself and the scant handful of exiled Purge survivors. Vader smirks now at the ultimate irony that by teaching Luke he may well earn as a Sith the rank of Jedi Master the Council long ago denied him. To think that a fallen Jedi has what remains of the Jedi archives and the cherished holochron vault stashed away in his castle on Mustafar.

But unfortunately, today the Force is not with him. At Hoth, everything goes wrong from the outset. That fool Ozzel comes out of lightspeed too soon and alerts the Rebels to the incoming Imperial threat. The Rebels start to flee immediately. Many transports and fighters make it away to safety, jumping to lightspeed immediately in all directions. Somewhere in that mix of ships and people is Luke Skywalker, Vader will later learn. But in the meantime, he strides through the deserted ice corridors of the Rebel base in a fruitless search. He captures none of the Rebel command structure, only low-level personnel who chose to remain behind so their leaders could escape.

He had been close, so close to meeting his son. But after months of hunting him, Luke Skywalker eludes capture. His high hopes dashed, inwardly Vader is devastated. The disappointment twists his gut and gnaws at his heart. His frustration cannot be underestimated. How can the Force do this to him? It’s outrageous and unfair.

The only lead Vader has left to chase is the spice smuggler’s freighter that gets off Hoth but for whatever reason cannot make the jump to lightspeed. Recalling the pictures of his jubilant son with the smuggler and the snippy Alderaan princess, Vader gives orders to capture the freighter. He will use his son’s friends as bait to lure him. It’s a classic Sith tactic to use your attachments against you.

But the freighter—the somewhat grandiosely named the _Millennium Falcon_—proves far harder to capture than anticipated. Whoever the daredevil pilot is who’s manning the controls, he’s good. Really good. Vader is impressed. It has him wondering if his son is flying. Well, more like hoping that his son is flying. For whoever that freighter pilot is, they have equal part nerves of steel and skill. When the fleeing Rebel ship careens wildly straight into an asteroid field, Vader secretly approves. It just the sort of tactic he would use were the roles reversed.

Chasing the _Millennium Falcon_ becomes a prolonged game of cat and mouse. Even with the basically unlimited amount of TIE fighters he can throw at the problem, the asteroid field evens the odds nicely. It also puts the larger Imperial capital ships at a distinct disadvantage. Their weaponry is useless in this setting. So while Vader can appreciate the Rebels’ tactic, the novelty wears off fast. He wants that ship, not excuses. 

But the chase drags on. And so, when yet again Vader finds himself watching an underling report his lack of progress via hologram, he is impatient. The man rather predictably concludes that his own failure must signal the Rebels’ failure, telling him “ . . . and that, Lord Vader, was the last time they appeared in any of our scopes. Considering the amount of damage we've sustained, they must have been destroyed.”

He disagrees. “No, Captain, they're alive.” Alive and probably laughing at his fleet making fools of themselves in this chase. The amount of resources he has expended on one small freighter seems like overkill. At last count, they have lost twenty-seven TIEs. But the strategic importance of finding Luke Skywalker or at least his Rebel friends cannot be underestimated. It prompts Vader to repeat his earlier order, “I want every ship available to sweep the asteroid field until they are found.”

Turning away in disgust, he is met by an especially anxious looking officer who salutes stiffly. “Lord Vader? The Emperor commands you to make contact with him.”

The boss is calling. Well, good. Vader was sure to have plenty of camera bots collecting footage at the rout of the Rebel outpost and at the main base at Hoth. Coming in quick succession, those two victories will look like true momentum. His preliminary survey of the media coverage has been resoundingly positive. Vader looks like he’s doing his job well. That it’s all thanks to the mysterious maybe Darth Plagueis is irksome, but only he and Astral know. 

Time to take his victory lap with Sheev. Hopefully, this will put to rest any concerns that Astral has been a distraction. This communication certainly can’t be bad news. Sheev likes to deliver bad news in person. Vader always knows it’s bad news when he gets summoned back to the Coruscant palace. 

He commands, “Move the ship out of the asteroid field so we can send a clear transmission.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Then he stalks off to clear his mind and prepare for the imminent interview with his Master. 

He takes the com in his chambers on one knee. Interviews with his Sith Master are always conducted with these theatrics. Like it’s an official audience at the palace before witnesses. Moreover, the hologram of his Master is projected ridiculously large. It’s overcompensating, Vader sniffs, for a man of small stature to insist on appearing so big. It oddly reminds him of Master Yoda’s wisdom that ‘size matters not.’ For power in this context has nothing to do with your physical presence. 

“What is thy bidding, my Master?” Vader says his opening line slowly with grave reverence, like he’s prostrate before his god. It never hurts to stroke Sheev’s ego. 

Vader is ready for his ‘you have done well, Lord Vader’ atta-boy commendation, when Sheev goes a completely different direction. “There is a great disturbance in the Force.”

Vader gulps. He suspected this conversation was coming, even if he was hoping to avoid it. “I have felt it,” he answers, playing it cool.

And now, Sheev drops a bombshell. “We have a new enemy. Luke Skywalker.”

Luke Skywalker. Not ‘the Rebel who destroyed the Death Star,’ but Luke Skywalker. Luke fucking Skywalker. Vader cringes behind his mask. He knows--Sheev knows! 

Vader forces down his knee jerk panic. His mind racing, he focuses on two things: Sheev knows his kid’s name and he considers him to be an enemy. That basically means he knows everything, including that his son has the Force. 

Still playing it cool, Vader gulps, “Yes, my Master.” There’s no point in issuing a denial to pretend like he himself didn’t know. That will only piss Sheev off further. Vader braces himself for what’s coming next. 

But Sheev is in a mood to fret, not to punish. “He could destroy us,” his Master croaks out with awful intensity. 

This admission is unprecedented. Sheev Palpatine has never lacked for confidence. If he has doubts, he does not disclose them. And so, this moment speaks to the depths of his fear. Darth Sidious has foreseen something, Vader realizes immediately. He’s foreseen something he believes and he fears. And that gives Vader hope. Maybe this development isn’t the complete disaster he has assumed.

Knowing his Master well, Vader now cheerleads by dismissing the concern. “He's just a boy. Obi-Wan can no longer help him.” With Kenobi dead, the kid’s on his own unless he somehow manages to find where Yoda hides. Or maybe Ahsoka.

Darth Sidious is not reassured. But he is resolute. “The Force is strong with him. The son of Anakin Skywalker must not become a Jedi.” 

On this point, they agree completely. Vader now deploys the strategy he has decided on for just this contingency. He boldly suggests, “If he could be turned, he would become a powerful ally.”

“Yes,” Sheev considers. That fact alone is astonishing. “Yes. He would be a great asset. Can it be done?” he asks. The very question tells Vader that his Master knows he knows far more than he’s letting on. 

A show of loyalty is in order now. Vader growls and brandishes a clenched fist. “He will join us or die, my Master.” And was that convincing? Did he hesitate too long before answering? Sheev doesn’t indicate either way. The hologram quickly fuzzes out. Leaving Vader to brood and stew on a whole new set of issues. 

Because that’s it? That’s it?? No threats? No accusations? No bragging? No warning? Sheev took that entirely too well. He must be holding his fire, Vader decides. It’s atypical and unsettling. More like the sly, subtle Sheev Palpatine of old than his recent despotic, paranoid self.

Vader’s mind keeps churning. As far as he knows, only a handful of people know about the existence of Luke Skywalker, Rebel ace pilot. There’s Astral, who is loyal. Then, there’s Darth Plagueis, who might be stirring up trouble since Vader walked out on his offer in the Temple. There’s also the Mandalorian armored bounty hunter who could have sold the information. But guys like that come back to you to get you to top the third party offer usually. They only care about the money. Lastly, there’s Captain Groat who was present when Vader discovered the pilot’s identity. He also compiled the dossier on his son from Tatooine.

Making an educated guess, Vader summons Captain Groat, his heretofore reliable mole within the Intel unit. Groat confesses straightaway. Apparently, Sheev has known of the existence of his Rebel son practically since Vader himself found out.

It puts his Master’s frustration with his lack of progress pursuing the Rebels in a whole new light. Does Sheev actually want him to find his son? And if so, why did he admit to knowledge of the boy now? The only explanation Vader has is that unexplained disturbance in the Force.

Groat dies for his treachery. Since he’s not dying for professional failure but for disloyalty on a highly personal matter, he doesn’t get choked. Instead, Groat loses his head. But just to make sure he suffers some, Vader carves him up a little first. It makes an unsavory mess. Vader is not normally so gratuitous, but this is a special case. He’s feeling very Dark.

And just as he summons a minion to deal with the mess, Vader senses yet another disturbance in the Force. This one is just as strong as the prior one, maybe even stronger. What the Hell is his kid up to, Vader wonders. It’s just two days since the attack on Hoth and his kid is making waves again in the fabric of the universe. Yes, Vader thinks with a mix of pride and trepidation, the Force is strong with Luke Skywalker. His Master is right to fear him.


	23. chapter 23

An hour into the event program, Astral can’t decide if she’s glad she came or not. But she’s here, standing amid the sizable crowd clutching her small white vigil candle with the paper collar to catch the wax drippings.

She and many others have gathered in Coruscant’s largest park to mark the year anniversary of the destruction of Alderaan. The event is well underway. It began with a series of eulogies, including one by an Imperial general who vowed that the Rebel culprits responsible for the travesty will be brought to justice. His speech received only tepid, obligatory applause. For many among the mourners seem inclined to believe the Alliance version of events. The incidental chatter Astral overhears around her is decidedly pro-Rebellion.

That makes the memorial service an uncomfortable place for Astral to be. First and foremost, Rebel sympathizers are not good company to keep. Thankfully, none of the comments from the stage have been overtly political. But if that changes, Astral is leaving. She’s not about to get rounded up in some mass arrest for a seditious rally. But this setting also reminds her that the Rebels she assisted Lord Vader to attack are the only people telling the truth of her planet’s tragedy. Astral had good reason to deliver the prince’s datafile, but she knows that suppressing the Rebellion is tantamount to quelling the truth. And that seems like a betrayal of the billions of innocents who were slaughtered on her homeworld.

As far as she can tell, the attendees are refugees like herself plus friends and family who lost loved ones. The collective outpouring of their pent-up emotion is considerable. Frankly, Astral finds it awkward. Standing next to sobbing strangers makes her uncomfortable. She’s cried plenty of her own tears over Alderaan, but always in private. Looking around now, she deduces that she herself is much further along in the grief process than most. For a full year later, it’s clear that many are unable or unwilling to move on with their lives. Many seem deeply aggrieved or wanly despondent. Some hold handmade signs proclaiming ‘Never Forget’ and ‘Alderaan Forever,’ while others wear t-shirts with the names and pictures of lost souls emblazoned across the front. Observing their uniformly tearstained faces, Astral realizes how fortunate she has been to land on her feet both emotionally and from a practical perspective.

Mostly, it is thanks to Lord Vader, she recognizes.

And that makes Astral wonder if mourning Alderaan so intensely is really the right choice. Because while she’s sympathetic to others’ plights, she is dubious of the benefits of building a whole new identity around being an Alderaan survivor. Astral is in no hurry to forget her old life, but she’s savvy enough to know that she needs to build a new future. Wallowing in grief impedes that goal. Lord Vader’s blunt advice was right that fateful day on the freighter—she needs to move on. But by the looks of it, many here at the memorial service will be incapable of doing that any time soon. The realization makes Astral sad for these strangers on a whole new level.

This is a moment when she realizes how important Darth Vader is to her life. For he is the walking, talking, wheezing embodiment of resilience. There is much wisdom in his tough love. He’s right that overcoming obstacles makes you stronger. But that’s not to say that coping with great loss is merely a matter of changing your attitude. Some hurts forever change you. Some wounds never fully heal. But still . . . you need to find a way to cope and to move forward. To accept the things you cannot change. To endure them with as much grace as you can. Darth Vader does that too.

Part of the man’s majestic gravitas is who he was before he became who he is. Darth Vader is all about context. But far too few people know that, and so they take what they see at face value, deeming him ruthless and heartless when in truth, Lord Vader is far from that. Circumstances prohibit him from speaking his mind and giving the full set of reasons for his actions, both the overt and covert ones. But Astral knows those reasons. She longs for the day when he will rule the galaxy unfettered by his feckless, self-absorbed Master. For a day when there will be no more Death Stars and no more Alderaans. But until then, Lord Vader will search for his son while he pretends to hunt the Rebels. He will be the temperate, behind-the-scenes reformer while he pretends to be the Emperor’s cruel enforcer. He will be some murky grey-ish version of a Light Side Jedi while he pretends to be the consummate Dark Lord of the Sith.

Lord Vader is also far from the stoic tough guy he pretends to be. Astral suspects that in private, his ‘no crying, no pity, no whining’ rule has been mostly observed in breach. But she admires his stalwart physical fortitude. The manly image is his coping mechanism, she knows. Emotionally? Well, that’s a different story. There’s far less stiff upper lip there. From their earliest days at the castle, it was clear that he is a slave to his emotions, inflicting his moods on everyone who surrounds him. Now back on the job, Darth Vader routinely acts out with his chokehold executions and biting snark. Afterwards, she suspects, he retires to his private medical pod a brooding, depressed wreck. The man stews in his own frustration quite a bit. He’s conflicted to his core about his predicament.

Because for all his gruesome physical disabilities, Darth Vader’s greater burden is his emotional anguish. The man’s guilt over his family lies right beneath the surface. Layered onto that shame, Astral knows, is a pervasive sense of personal failure. So while Lord Vader’s obsession with Padme may have waned a bit of late, Astral worries that his very much alive estranged son has taken her place on the pedestal. Darth Vader couldn’t save his wife from his Master, so he is determined to save his child. The man has a hero complex that just won’t quit. It’s as much to make peace with the Force as it is to make amends with his dead wife. For Astral knows that Lord Vader wants his son to finish what he started with the Force—to be the Chosen One who will bring balance. 

That’s . . . well, it’s a lot. Astral worries that Lord Vader is incredibly invested in the fairytale future he envisions for himself and his son. Darth Sidious will have something to say about it, she fears. So will the maybe-grandfather Darth Plagueis. And that’s all presuming that Luke Skywalker will cooperate. Astral is skeptical. She doubts very much that the Rebel hero from Tatooine will react well to learning the identity of his long-lost father. Astral doesn’t want to think about what will happen if that kid rejects Lord Vader. He will be crushed.

So whenever the Skywalkers finally meet, Astral is determined to be there. If only to pick up the pieces afterwards. Lord Vader would do it for her, she knows. Probably in his gruff ‘deal with it’ way, but he would be there all the same. Because Lord Vader is a man who doesn’t walk away. He’s not her ex or her father. He’s a totally different sort of man. The sort of man she wishes she had met years ago.

Up onstage, the current speaker finishes. Next up is another prayer and a hymn. Then yet another choked up, sobbing eulogy. It’s too much. Astral decides she has heard and seen enough. She blows out her candle and heads for the nearest trash receptacle. And that’s when she almost literally runs into a familiar woman.

“Oh.” Astral stops short and blinks in surprise. It’s Lady Sidious. She’s holding a votive candle too.

Astral must look shocked because the redhead femme fatale of a certain age grins. She’s clearly enjoying Astral’s discomfort. With one hand on her leather clad hip, Lady Sidious drawls, “Fancy meeting you here,” as she too tosses her candle in the trash.

Yikes. Astral gulps and recovers fast. “I could say the same for you, er—“ What does she call this woman?

“Cresta.”

“Yes, of course. Cresta. Hello again. Nice to see you,” Astral lies as she reaches out her hand in greeting to be polite. “I’m—“

“Astral. Astral from Alderaan.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

The unofficial Empress of the galaxy shakes Astral’s hand firmly like a businesswoman as she explains, “I made Sheev show me your file.”

Astral blanches. “He has a file?”

Lady Sidious tosses her fiery mane and announces, “He does now. Ever since I screamed at him about you, he got interested.” She looks a bit sheepish. “Sorry about that. I jumped to conclusions.”

It’s a sincere apology, but wary Astral nods coolly. “Yes, you did.”

Lady Sidious merely shrugs. “It pays to be careful if you’re me. Lots of women throw themselves at my husband,” she claims. “Power becomes a man, and that makes my Sheev extra sexy,” she announces with complete sincerity. To another, that sentiment might be laughable. But Astral understands. Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, she now fully appreciates. Lying awake nights lusting after her burn-scarred, quadriplegic Sith lover has taught Astral that. “Anyhow, Sheev dragged your security guy in and grilled him,” the older woman finishes.

“My security guy? I don’t have a security guy.”

“Sure, you do. He’s standing right over there.“ Lady Sidious gestures to her left. Then, she brags, “I have three. I hate them, but Sheev insists, especially in a setting like this.”

Astral is displeased. “Who put a security guy on me?”

“Who else?” the other woman smirks. “Your tall, dark, and formerly handsome guy. You’ve had a daily tail since you moved here. Didn’t you know?”

No, she didn't. Astral frowns. “He didn’t tell me that.”

Lady Sidious gives her a knowing look. “Probably because he didn’t want you to worry. Or he thought you might object.”

“I do object,” Astral huffs.

Again, Lady Sidious shrugs. “It’s a control thing. The Sith are possessive. Get used to it.” She now casts an overtly appraising eye over Astral’s casual Saturday afternoon clothes. They are a sharp contrast to her own purple and black leather ensemble that belongs in a fashion magazine editorial spread and not real life. Certainly not in daytime, at least. It’s an eyeful. One thing is for sure, Lady Sidious’ style is very distinctive. It’s weirdly endearing, Astral thinks. This woman has a strong sense of self and she owns it.

Lady Sidious now pronounces, “I knew it was serious when he put surveillance on you.”

“It’s not serious,” Astral immediately corrects. “It’s not serious at all. We’re mostly just friends.”

That elicits an indelicate snort. “So you’re telling me you’re fuck buddies with Darth Vader?” Lady Sidious laughs.

“Whaa—No! It’s not like that!” Astral objects again. She can feel her face flame bright red.

“How is it then?”

How does she respond to that nosy question? What are she and Darth Vader to one another? Astral settles on a neutral sounding phrase. “We enjoy each other’s company.”

Lady Sidious arches one penciled eyebrow. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? He gives you a seven million credit apartment in an exclusive Pre-Clone Wars era co-op building complete with a doorman and a private landing pad on the terrace because you”—she now gestures with air-quotes—"enjoy each other’s company?”

“Er . . . yes,” Astral sticks to her story.

“I see.” Lady Sidious leans in now to ask under her breath, “So if that’s what you get for being good company, I wonder what will you get if you suck that charred dick of his?”

Astral blinks and gapes at this offensive crudity. For a moment, she’s speechless. Then, it’s on the tip of her tongue to respond with a blistering putdown to this ribald and aging mean girl in stilettos and leather pants. But Astral thinks better of it. She’s still very wary of the Emperor’s threat. The is Lady Sidious who can whisper who knows what into her tyrant husband’s ear. And besides, Astral refuses to lower herself to this tacky woman’s level. 

So, she gives a frosty farewell, “Good day, Cresta,” as she prepares to march off with maximum dignity. Time to end this conversation before it gets worse. If that’s even possible.

“Oh, stop,” the older woman complains loudly after her. “Don’t be like that,” she cajoles with one hand on her hip.

Astral hesitates midstride. Because can you walk away while the Empress is talking to you? This woman’s position—while unofficial—gives her all the leverage.

Again, the other woman tosses that shiny, improbably red hair. “You are just as prissy as you look, aren’t you? Ani has a type, I see,” she observes.

Curiosity gets the better of Astral now. “Why are you here?” Lady Sidious is the wife of the man who built the Death Star. This is hardly her scene. “Why would you come to this memorial?”

“I like Alderaan. I used to live there.”

“Really?” Astral is not convinced. “When?”

“When I danced in the Royal Ballet.”

Oh. “Er . . . really?” Whoops. That came out wrong. It’s just that Astral would have pegged Lady Sidious as a completely different kind of dancer.

“Yes. Really.” The other woman lifts her chin with pride. “I was a principal with the company for over a decade.”

Oh. But now, looking past the sexy clothes, garish hair, and purple fingernails, Astral can kind of, sort of believe it. Because beneath the tacky glitz, the Emperor’s wife is ultra-petite but long limbed. It’s not hard to imagine her with a ballerina’s grace and elegance. Until she opens her mouth, that is. But Lady Sidious’ face is truly classically beautiful. In her younger days, she must have turned many heads. A lot of heads, Astral decides. With a face like an angel and a mouth like a spacer, she must have been a strange mix of grit and high culture.

Astral now volunteers, “My mother played in the symphony back on Alderaan. She played for the ballet some seasons too.”

“Did she? When? What years?”

They compare dates and Lady Sidious happily concludes, “We overlapped some. Your mother must have been in the orchestra pit for some of my performances.” The secret Empress reminisces, “Sheev never missed an opening night if I was dancing. He’d rearrange Senate votes and meetings to get there even if he couldn’t stay past the curtain.” She smiles wistfully as she recalls the bygone days of the late Republic. “I loved Alderaan. Those years were everything I wanted them to be. But Sheev was here in the Senate, so when my ballet career was over, I came back to Coruscant. In those years, he was still the Apprentice.”

All this sentiment is nice, but it doesn’t really impress Astral. She can’t help but feel slightly offended that this woman—of all people--is present at the memorial. It feels almost disrespectful. “Maybe you shouldn’t be here,” she suggests quietly.

Lady Sidious is undeterred. “Why not? I didn’t build that thing. And I certainly didn’t tell him to use it on Alderaan. He should have blown up one of those shithole planets in the Rim. But if it had to be a Core world, why wasn’t it Chandrila?” she vents. “I mean, why not blow up Mon Mothma’s homeworld?” Lady Sidious tosses her hair again. It seems to be a habit. “Alderaan was such a nice place,” she sighs. 

_A nice place_. It’s such an underwhelming understatement for the magnitude of the pain outpouring around them. Again, Astral is offended. “How about not blowing up any planets?” she responds sharply. Astral wonders whether Lady Sidious knows there is a second Death Star in the works. Would she even care? Or would she swing her red hair and brush it off like she seems to do so much else?

“Sure, I’m good with that.” The older woman now changes the topic back to Darth Vader. “So, how did you meet Ani? Your security guy didn’t know.”

Astral is vague. “By accident.“

“You get arrested or something? Or crash land on Mustafar?”

“No.” Astral comes clean. Lying to this woman doesn’t seem like an option. “A ship I was on picked up his disabled TIE fighter that was damaged in the Death Star explosion.”

“You rescued him?” Lady Sidious looks amused.

“In a way, I guess.”

“I like that,” the Empress approves. “Turn the storybook romance stuff on its head. Mr. Powerful Dark Lord needed help. But well,” she reconsiders, “I guess Ani needs a lot of help. He’s a wreck. My Sheev might look like a prune but at least he’s all there. Everything works even if it doesn’t look pretty anymore.” She fixes a close look on Astral and probes again, “So . . . this thing with Vader isn’t serious, eh?”

Astral nods vigorously. “We’re just friends.”

“The Sith don’t have friends. They have enemies and allies. Which one are you?“ It’s a pointed question.

“If you put it like that, I guess I’m an ally,” Astral plays along.

The older woman nods. “At least you knew from the outset what you were getting into. I didn’t. I knew Sheev was trying to drum up cash and support for a run for the open junior Senate seat on Naboo. But I thought he was legit.“ She shakes her head and adds, “Never knew he was a Sith until much later. By then, it was too late. I loved that handsome bastard and, well, a lot had happened.“ Lady Sidious looks reflective again. “That was so long ago . . . We were kids. Stupid, foolish, idealistic kids out to make it big and change the galaxy.” She frowns. “That was long before the Death Star.”

“That weapon is an abomination,” Astral condemns under her breath. Maybe it’s speaking out of turn, but she feels compelled to speak the truth to this woman. Someone needs to say it.

Lady Sidious doesn’t disagree with her sentiment. She just explains, “It was Sheev’s Master’s idea originally.”

“Really?” Darth Plagueis conceived of the Death Star?

“Yes. Why?”

Astral thinks fast. “I guess I had no idea it was in the works for so long.”

Lady Sidious appears satisfied with that answer. She shifts topics back to Darth Vader. “Look, we don’t know each other, but I’ve got some good advice for you. Astral, if you aren’t serious about the kid—“

“The kid?”

“Ani. Lord Vader. Guess I still think of him as the Jedi kid all these years later.”

“Right.”

“Anyhow, if you aren’t serious about Lord Vader, then you need to get out now. Before it’s too late.”

“T-too late??” Astral swallows hard at this warning. Is another death threat forthcoming?

Lady Sidious is blunt. “If you don’t get out right away, you’re pretty much stuck. You don’t get to dump a Sith. And they don’t dump you. Usually, they kill you. Like Ani killed his Senator girl.”

Astral bristles to Lord Vader’s defense. “He didn’t kill her.“

The other women shoots her an ‘oh, please’ look. “That’s not what Sheev says. I never met her myself. I just saw her on the holonet. She was one of those elected child queens they dress up like a doll and parade around making speeches while the grownups in the back rooms make all the decisions. It’s a creepy custom, but Naboo still has it. I think it started out as some feelgood girl power gesture eons ago.”

Astral nods along, wondering where this is going.

“Vader was a Jedi back when I met him. He came to Sheev wanting advice on his girlfriend. Wondering if he could keep it a secret. So Sheev told him about us and told him to go for it. To marry his girl and screw the fucking Jedi Code. To keep it on the down low and do what he wanted. So he did.”

“Oh.”

“Even then, Sheev knew Ani would be his Apprentice. He had foreseen it,” Lady Sidious brags.

“Oh.”

“He foresees lots of things. But he didn’t foresee you,” the older woman muses thoughtfully. She fixes Astral with a probing look that makes her want to squirm. “So . . . you’re an art teacher?”

“Art dealer.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“Most of the works the auction house deals in are museum quality,” Astral confirms.

“So only the good shit?” the older woman jokes.

“Er . . . yes,” Astral answers diplomatically.

“I don’t sell art. I sell booze and entertainment at my bars and clubs. Did he tell you?”

Astral averts her eyes as she admits, “Vanee may have alluded to some things.”

“Whatever you heard, it’s probably true,” roguish Lady Sidious smirks proudly. “It’s good to have a job,” she counsels, “to have something for yourself. I don’t compete with Sheev, of course. No one can. But that doesn’t mean I can’t achieve success in my own area.” She levels Astral a frank look now. “Don’t get lost in their world. It will only drag you down.”

“Oh.” Astral blinks at this advice from a woman in her line of work. That she seems completely sincere in her words makes the warning a little chilling. Because how exactly do you get dragged down into something worse than Underworld vice? Vanee says this woman is the queen bee of sleazy Lower Level brothels and spice dens.

The free advice keeps flowing now. “You don’t want to know what they do. Death Stars, wars, assassinations, clones . . . It’s best to look away. Leave the power and the politics to them. Stay in your lane with the art.” Again, Lady Sidious is candid . . . and a little sheepish. “It’s good to live with some denial. There’s less conflict that way.”

Astral speaks up now. “I know who he is.”

“You think you know who he is,” the Empress counters with a tone that speaks of a longtime insider’s wisdom. She speaks softly under her breath but her words are very clear. “The Sith turn on everyone who trusts them sooner or later. Even you, mark my words. Betrayal is their way. Vader’s like all the rest, trust me. Ani is a hot mess and always has been. Twenty years in that suit hasn’t improved things, I suspect.” She leans close and reiterates her earlier words: “Get out now. Before you end up dead like the wife he claimed to love who he choked to death.”

“Are you trying to scare me off?” Astral asks bluntly.

“Is it working?”

“Not really.”

“So, it is serious,” Lady Sidious concludes. She looks a bit frustrated. “What is with women and bad boys? You’re no green girl--you’re too old to be making these mistakes. Do you figure you’ve got nothing to lose since Alderaan’s gone? Is that it? You gotta death wish, art girl?” The unofficial Empress throws up her hands now. “You know, you remind me of someone. She got mixed up with a Sith and he dragged her down. She took a long fall from grace out of the Jedi Order into the Underworld on the run where I met her. Do you want to know how her story ends? Do you?? It wasn’t happily ever after. She’s dead and her Sith Lord husband who could supposedly cheat death couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it!”

Astral has nothing to say to this diatribe about people she doesn’t even know. All she knows is that Darth Vader isn’t the man Lady Sidious believes him to be. For all his missteps and mistakes, he’s far better than Lord Sidious who she suspects is this woman’s point of reference.

“So, it is serious,” the older woman concludes again from Astral’s prolonged, stone faced silence.

“I don't know. It could be,” Astral equivocates, wanting to give nothing away.

“That’s a yes. Well, fuck,” Lady Sidious sighs, “don’t say I didn’t warn you. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Astral nods and lets slip, “Me too.”

“Okay, I get it,” Lady Sidious backs down. “But come to me if you need help. Every now and then I can get Sheev to do what I say. But,” her eyes slant to Astral with more warning, “I’m careful what I ask for.”

That’s an offer Astral will not be accepting. She will be keeping her distance from Lady Sidious. She doesn’t trust this woman. But she nonetheless agrees, “Understood.”

“Good.”

Their tense conversation is interrupted when thankfully the Empress’ comlink goes off. Looking annoyed, she checks it looking intent to decline the call. But seeing who it is, she accepts.

“Hey, baby,” she practically purrs into the device, “you won’t believe where I am and who I just met here . . .”

Are they finished? Astral decides yes. She has a pretty good guess for who’s on the other end of the comcall based on the abrupt mix of fawning and tart words she overhears. It’s definitely time to leave. As Lady Sidious keeps chattering, Astral takes the opportunity to slink away as fast as she can.

She heads for the nearest public transport stop. As she hops on the next vehicle heading for the Upper Level, Astral can’t help but notice a lone man get on the same transport at the rear entrance. He exits her same stop too. How has she never noticed him before? Probably because on very crowded Coruscant, strangers are everywhere all the time. People are routinely walking the same places and doing the same things she does and it’s purely coincidence. Except, of course, when it’s not. Astral realizes that she has been oblivious to her own surveillance.

Is the man here to protect her on Lord Vader’s behalf? Or does he work for Lord Sidious now? Is the Emperor keeping watch on her or Darth Vader? When Astral next sees her Dark Lord, they will definitely have a discussion about this, Astral decides.

Later that evening as she’s dressing to meet an auction house client who is in town for the weekend for dinner, Astral mulls over the chance meeting with the Empress in the park. And wait—was that a chance meeting? She can’t be sure. But in the interim hours, Astral has grown indignant at Lady Sidious’ meddling. Was her warning a ploy to encourage her to split from Lord Vader? Were her sentiments truly well intentioned? Astral decides that it doesn’t matter. Neither Lord nor Lady Sidious is going to keep her and Darth Vader apart.

Because if the experience of losing Alderaan has taught her anything, it’s that no one is promised tomorrow. Without license to be reckless, you should live for today. And that means affirmatively seeking out happiness. Those mourners she saw earlier aren’t ready yet for happiness. But Astral is. Her happiness wears a mask, a respirator, and four artificial limbs. It’s not how she would have pictured prince charming and it’s far from an ideal relationship. But as dangerous and difficult as being with Lord Vader is, he’s worth it.

Moreover, Astral is keenly aware that none of the tears and speeches at today‘s memorial will have any lasting impact to prevent another Alderaan. But Lord Vader could. He and his Rebel son might be able to overthrow Lord Sidious with the prince’s help. And then, the truth of Alderaan could be revealed to the galaxy as its new leader commits not to repeat his predecessor’s excesses. Those goals—a better, more just galaxy and the overthrow of the Emperor—are worth taking risks for, Astral decides.

Now fully primped, Astral presents herself at a swank restaurant with a celebrity chef and a three week wait for reservations. She’s here to meet a collector from the Mid Rim. He’s the scion of a wealthy family whose industrialist entrepreneur patriarch made billions a few generations back. The family foundation invests in artwork that it likes to loan to preeminent institutions between sales. They buy and sell a lot of art with a speculator’s eye for what will be the next big thing. Their longtime art advisor is retiring and the family has begun looking for a replacement. That’s where Astral comes in. She’s hoping that this dinner will lay the groundwork for a real job interview.

She’s met her dinner companion twice before at auctions. He’s a whitehaired human man in his fifties. Handsome, debonair, and polished like his pedigree, wealth, and social position would suggest. He’s also charismatic. He and Astral have a good rapport and that keeps the conversation flowing.

They are partway through dinner when a commotion on the other side of the restaurant sends murmurs through the crowd of patrons. Astral, like everyone else, looks up. What she sees silences her and everyone else on the premises. There are six stormtroopers pushing their way past the flustered maitre d’ with guns raised. They stride purposely into the seating area looking for someone.

“Oh my,” Astral reacts as she sets down her wineglass.

“Looks like someone’s getting arrested,” her dinner companion says under his breath. “This is not where I’d expect to find a Rebel,” he adds.

The troopers keep inspecting tables, making their way through the dimly lit bistro while two troopers stand guard at the exit. They are looking at the women, Astral realizes, as she watches more than one lady rear back in shock and surprise as a blaster is shoved into her face. This is an expensive place full of well-heeled Upper Level types. These ladies are not accustomed to being treated with suspicion. And, well, they’re likely far too much a part of the Imperial Establishment to be Rebels.

And now, a sneaking suspicion dawns. They’re not—they couldn’t be—they won’t—

“You!” A blaster is now shoved in Astral’s face. “You there. Get up. Yep,” the trooper decides as he compares her against a picture, “That’s her. That’s the hair. Dinner’s over, Lady. You’re coming with us.”

“Excuse me?” Astral gulps, staring down the barrel of the gun. “There must be some mistake.”

Her wide-eyed art collector dinner date looks horrified. “Astral—are you a Rebel?” he whispers hoarsely as he shrinks back.

“No!” If anything, she’s an Imperial informant. In fact, she just betrayed the location of a bona fide Rebel outpost.

“Astral Sidhu?” the trooper with the gun in her face demands.

“Yes,” she answers stiffly.

“You’re coming with us. He wants you brought in. Come quietly and we’ll skip the cuffs. But don’t try anything. We don’t set to stun.”

“There must be a mistake,” she sputters again. Every eye on the room is watching her now. It’s humiliating. “I’m not a Rebel,” she protests weakly. 

“No one said you were. But we have orders to take you in.” There’s a white armored man at each of her elbows now. They begin to hustle her out.

“Who’s your commanding officer? I demand to speak to him,” Astral improvises. But she’s worried that this is the hand of the Emperor at work. That he is making good on his threat. Lord Vader has somehow displeased his Master and this is the consequence. Or maybe her conversation earlier today with Lady Sidious has yielded this result. Either way, this does not bode well.

The lead trooper turns to call back at her dinner companion. “Stay away from her if you don’t want trouble. Consider yourself lucky.”

“What is going on?” Astral grinds out. But no one provides an explanation.

Next comes a silent, worrisome ride in a trooper transport. Astral stares out the window, swallowing her fears and blinking back tears. Where are they taking her? This isn’t the way to the palace. In fact, it’s the opposite direction. If she didn’t know better, she’d think they were taking her home.

They are taking her home. The transport comes to a stop, hovering right adjacent to her apartment terrace. A ramp deploys and she is marched down and presented to none other than Lord Vader.

“You!” she hisses. Astral is equal parts ready to faint from relief and livid with outrage.

Ignoring her, Lord Vader commands, “Leave us,” to his men. “I will summon you when needed.”

The troopers aren’t even gone when she accuses, “Only you could be so bold—“

“Don’t act so surprised.” Lord Vader crosses his arms as the night breeze lifts his cape to billow behind him. He’s at his most commanding in that pose. It’s very effective. “Did you think you could see other men and I wouldn’t notice?”

See other men? Wait--what? Astral squints up at him. She’s confused.

“Well? I await your explanation.”

Her explanation? He’s the one who should be explaining. Astral is indignant at her treatment. She hotly demands, “What are you doing spying on me?”

“I am protecting you.”

“By assigning some guy to follow me? Were you even going to tell me?”

“Not unless you asked.”

She fumes at this answer. “What else haven’t you told me?”

“You know more of my secrets than anyone alive,” he reminds her. “Now explain. What are you doing out—“

“That wasn’t a date!” And wait—is he jealous? He is. And that’s ridiculous. “That was a business dinner,” she informs him.

“That’s not what it looked like.”

“That wasn’t a date!”

“I come back here to see you and I find you’re out—“

“That wasn’t a date!” she screeches a third time. Astral scowls up at that inscrutable mask, wishing she could see his face. It’s hard to talk to someone when you can’t see their expressions to read what they are thinking. But Astral knows her own mind, and tonight she uncharacteristically lets loose. Her words are rapid and heated.

“That was essentially a job interview, I’ll have you know! If I can get a position as a curator of a private collection, then I will have more flexibility on my work hours. That means I can see you more.” She has to be the one to compromise her schedule. Lord Vader can’t, she knows. “Tonight was for us! Because I want more time with you!” Astral gives him a dirty look she hopes fully registers as she adds, “At least I thought I did. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“You don’t need a job—“

“I want a job! I like to work. That collector tonight was my best lead for a new position. The auction house would love it too because I would bring them new transactions, so no bridges would be burnt. But you had to send your goons and ruin it—“

“I’ll get you the job,” Lord Vader grumbles. And is he sheepish? He should be. But who can tell with that hard, angular blank stare? She might as well be talking to a wall. “I’ll get you the job,” he stubbornly repeats as she fumes.

“How? You have ruined my credibility and embarrassed me in public! I got marched off by stormtroopers. Like some terrorist! Like a common criminal! That collector is a big art investor,” she snaps. “He’s probably sending my boss a message now complaining that I got arrested at dinner. Wondering what sort of business we are running—maybe even questioning if we are dealing in fakes or stolen works--“

“I can fix this. He’ll hire you. I will make him hire you.”

“I don’t want that,” Astral protests, turning away in frustration. Here she had been ready to make a big change in her life to make room for more time with Lord Vader. And this is how he acts??

“Astral, I can fix this.”

“Don’t bother,” she sniffs. “I don’t want to get hired because I’m Darth Vader’s mistress and someone puts a gun to the guy’s head.”

“Oh, so you're my mistress now?”

Lord Vader sounds sort of amused, but she’s not. It’s not a title she has aspired to. She gestures to the terrace they’re standing on. “This is your apartment, isn’t it?“

“It’s your apartment.”

“That you bought for me.” She sighs heavily. “I live in your apartment . . . I drive your speeder . . . I have a bank account full of your credits. How did I end up in this position?” she laments, “mistress to the man who runs the galaxy . . . ”

“Want to upgrade to wife?” he angles.

“Seriously?” He’s raising this issue now?? This man has very ill-timed proposals. Astral puts her hands on her hips and glares up into those red eyes.

He doesn’t back down. In fact, he doubles down. “It’s an open offer. Just say yes.”

“Oh, don’t start,” she waves him off, irritated by him raising the issue of marriage at a time like this. “You don’t trust me. After all I have risked for you—“

“Astral—“

“I sat in a jail cell for you! How do you think that makes me feel? I’ll tell you,” she whirls and snarls. “Like a fool!”

She bursts into tears now as she sees both her career and her relationship suddenly slipping away. She’s breaking the ‘no crying’ rule but she can’t help it. Because it looks like Lady Sidious might get her wish and she and Lord Vader will split up. And that isn’t what Astral wants.

“You don’t trust me,” she laments between sniffs.

“I’m afraid to lose you,” he counters.

“So you spy on me—“

“I just want to protect you. There are real dangers—“

“I know! I was there when your Master threatened to kill me, remember? But this isn’t protection. This is control! This is you seeing me with another man afterhours and jumping to conclusions. Because you don’t trust me!” She adds, “Oh, and he is married, by the way. Just so you know—“

“This is what happens when you live long distance and you never see each other,” Lord Vader blames it on their circumstances, not himself.

“I was trying to change that,” she reminds him as she wipes at her eyes. “I don’t like this either, you know.”

Finally, he accepts the blame. Predictably, his apology is stilted and awkward. This man isn’t used to accounting for his actions. “Tonight, I wanted to see you. I didn’t want to wait. When you weren’t here, I got worried. Then I got impatient.”

“I’m not your trooper you can order around! How was I supposed to know you were in town? I don’t even have a comlink to use to contact you.”

“You know that’s to protect us both.”

“Well, don’t expect me to just sit around waiting for you to show up. I have a life to lead.”

“I needed to see you.”

“And you couldn’t wait two hours?“

“No,” he persists stubbornly. “I miss you.” He says this as if it excuses anything and everything.

Astral shoots him a resentful look and gripes, “I guess maybe I should be glad that you sent your troopers and you didn’t just show up yourself to choke me.”

It’s an offhand comment, but a low blow. The instant the words leave her lips, Astral regrets them. For a long moment, there is only the sound of Lord Vader’s mechanical breathing. She holds her breath as he stays silent.

Her eyes now find the floor. She went too far. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“No. You shouldn’t have,” he growls. He’s stung and it shows. She crossed a line with those reckless, bitter words. Now, he’s angry too.

Astral is shamefaced. “I know you would never do that,” she whispers. She’s wringing her hands, miserable about how things have devolved tonight between them. This distrust and bickering are so stressful and unnecessary. But still . . . they are doing it anyway. “I know you’re not that man,” she chokes out, turning away as she raises a hand to wipe anew at her eyes.

Astral takes two paces before she feels his gloved hands on her shoulders. It arrests her instantly. His next words take the remaining heat out of her anger. “I knew you weren’t cheating on me,” Lord Vader admits. “I was disappointed you were busy and I wanted to see you. Then, when I saw the pictures at the restaurant, I was . . . envious.” It’s an honest, if awkward, truth.

Astral turns now to walk into his arms. Laying her head against his armor, she laments the issue that she too has chafed at. It’s the reason she went to dinner tonight. “We have so little time . . .”

“I have worried you would find some man like that guy tonight. A rich guy who could give you a glittering life of luxury and leisure. All the art museums and symphony concerts together you could ever want. Astral, I can’t give you that.”

She speaks into his chest as his cape rustles around them both. “I don’t care,” she disavows a conventional relationship.

“In time, you might.” His insecurities show now. Lord Vader might pretty much rule the galaxy singlehandedly, but he frets he cannot compete with an ordinary man. As extraordinary as he is, he still worries he does not measure up. It makes it hard for Astral to envision him as the arrogant Jedi he claims he once was.

“I will never be whole and breathe on my own. I’ll never take you out for a night on the town. We’ll never be normal, Astral.” The way he says this reminds them both of the costs of his position and his allegiance. For to be Sith means to belong to history . . . and to his Master’s whims. For all his immense power in the Empire and in the Force, Darth Vader has surprisingly little control of his own life. He’s a public figure whose private life is very limited. They both know that will never change. “I can give you many things, but I can’t give you normal,” he sighs.

Does he think that matters? She nestles closer, grateful that they have reached accord. It feels so good to be back in his arms. While Astral doesn’t shy away from confrontation, she never seeks out conflict. “We’ll always have the egg,” she smiles as she exhales.

“I’m serious. I will only bring you danger and enemies.”

She lifts her head. “Your boss has already threatened to kill me, remember?” You can’t really top that for danger. Hands down, Emperor Palpatine wins. “It can’t get any worse than that.”

“It might,” he warns. Now, he starts harping on a commitment again. “Let’s make it official. Let’s get married. You have all the downsides of being with me. Let me give you the upsides too.”

“What are those exactly?“ she murmurs.

“I’ve got a castle in the Rim with bare walls that you can decorate.”

“I am not a decorator,” she grumbles. “Art is not interior design.”

He doesn’t dispute the point. Instead, he argues, “People might think twice about harming my wife. Not so much for a mistress.”

“It won’t matter to your Master,” she reminds him softly. Lord Sidious apparently had no qualms about killing the first Lady Vader.

And that sad truth prompts Darth Vader to reveal news that puts his actions tonight in perspective. “Astral, he knows. Sheev knows about Luke.”

“What??” She pulls back and raises a worried hand to her lips. “Oh, Gods . . . ”

“He’s known all along. Groat betrayed me. Sheev has known that I’ve been looking for Luke for months.”

“He—oh, n-no . . . ”

“Groat’s dead.”

Yes, she would expect no less. And now, Astral fully understands Lord Vader’s overbearing show of force at the restaurant. His frustration with her unexpected absence. His need to dominate and to control. He’s feeling weak and vulnerable. Worried for his son. Insecure for what will happen now that his replacement is known to his Master. Impatient to talk to her because Astral is the only person who knows the full truth.

“What do we do?” she asks, anxiety choking her voice. She fully appreciates what this very unfortunate development means.

He thrusts her back now and reverts to his heavy-handed tactics. “There’s no ‘we.’ This has gotten too dangerous. You’re out of this, Astral. Leave it to me.” He wags a gloved finger before her nose. 

“We’re in this together, my Lord,” she retorts. And now, they are back to bickering again.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“I want to help you. I’ll take the risk.”

“Stay out of it. You’ll get yourself killed.”

Ignoring this, she thinks aloud. “Maybe you shouldn’t approach Luke directly when you find him,” she muses. “Maybe you need an emissary. But not from the Empire. Maybe take the politics out of it and make it an overture from the family . . . like from a wife.”

“Not a chance. But does that mean you accept? Are we getting married?” he wants to know.

Astral squirms. “It was just an idea—you know, to make it more like a welcome home and less like a battlefield parley--”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Both their heads now whip in unison to the side towards the sound of the newcomer’s voice. It’s the direction of the central terrace where now stands Darth Plagueis the Wise. Or rather, his very convincing Force projection.

Before Astral can blink, Lord Vader has reached a long arm out to whip her behind him. Then his lightsaber leaps into his hand to ignite. It’s a crack, a hiss, and a flash of ruby red that hums loudly.

“Astral, get inside,” Lord Vader commands.


	24. chapter 24

“Astral, get inside.“ Vader’s sword is buzzing in his hand and his senses are on alert as he stares down the disfigured man who calls himself his father. This man might not be an enemy, but he’s sure not a friend.

Behind him, Astral isn’t moving.

“Get inside. I will handle him,” Vader orders again.

“Oh, but I’m here to speak with her, not with you,” Darth Plagueis objects as he saunters forward with his characteristic twisting limp. He’s smirking openly, looking very pleased as he surveys them both.

Vader growls back, “You’re done playing us off one another.” Again, he orders, “Get inside,” to Astral.

She’s peeping around his left shoulder at their uninvited guest. And is she smiling? She looks almost happy to see the guy. She’s so naive. “Get inside!”

Astral looks up at him with trepidation but stands her ground as she emerges from behind his cape. “My Lord,” she answers quietly, “I would prefer to stay.” She looks pointedly at his lit sword and requests, “Please put the weapon away.”

“Yes,” their listening visitor piles on, “I mean you both no harm.”

Vader doubts that, but he extinguishes the weapon. It’s probably no good against a Force projection anyway. Again, he commands to Astral, “Get inside.” He will handle this. She doesn’t need to get caught in the crossfire between two Sith.

But Astral stymies him again with her soft voice and firm look. “My Lord, I can make my own decisions. I’ve been doing it for a long time.“

“Agreed. Now decide to get inside.“ Vader is growing impatient. He’s also not used to being countermanded, certainly not in front of witnesses. And a rival Dark Lord witness, at that. He fumes. Astral is acting very Padme right now.

Yet again, Astral balks. “You’re being controlling again,” she says under her breath. Apparently, she’s still mad about that thing at dinner.

But Vader would prefer not to have this discussion right now. He’s fine with independent women, just not when reckless danger is involved. “This is not the time—“

“Oh, I can see this is a very good time,“ Darth Plagueis observes gleefully. He’s catching all of this interplay, of course.

“I can handle myself with him. I’ve spoken with him more times than you have,” Astral persists.

“It’s true,” their uninvited guest interjects. He’s enjoying this little spat far too much. It makes the guy even more annoying. Vader shoots him a cold glare he hopes registers in the Force.

Astral digs in further. “I want to hear whatever you say that concerns me.”

“Sounds reasonable,” their audience declares, inserting himself once again.

Astral nods over at her faux prince and lifts her chin. “Precisely. I’m staying. I decide to stay.”

This is hopeless and Vader has brought it on himself. Had he not used high handed tactics with Astral earlier, she would be accommodating. But now, she feels the need to assert herself. Vader gives up. “So be it,” he accedes in clipped tones. In every other setting, people fall all over themselves to obey him as fast as they can. Except Astral. Well, and Vanee.

“Very good,” Darth Plagueis positively beams at her. “Now, my dear, how are you and what’s new?”

“This isn't a social call,” Vader complains. Time to dispense with the pleasantries and get back to the posturing. This is high treason and it must be conducted with all due seriousness. There’s no place for small talk in this setting.

“He’s always this way, isn’t he?” the elder Sith now complains to Astral.

She nods a little sheepishly. “Yes.” And who’s side is she on exactly??

Their visitor takes the news in stride and keeps talking to Astral. “I came to tell you that you’re hired, irrespective of tonight’s interruption at dinner.”

“You know about that?” She blinks.

“Yes. Never fear, you’re hired.”

“Hired?” Astral echoes blankly. “But how—“

“That family owes me several favors. You will be their new art consultant, never fear. Darth Boyfriend here’s antics notwithstanding, you’ll get the job. I’ll make sure of it.”

Selectively forgetting that he himself had just offered to make sure Astral got that very same job, Vader interrupts, “You’re not taking that job.” He refuses to have Astral indebted to this guy any further. She needs to be away from his control and oversight.

Astral looks deflated by the prince’s offer. “So you were the reason he considered me?” she asks in a small voice.

“You are very qualified. I merely made the suggestion.”

“You are the reason,” she sighs with dejection. She looks away. “I didn’t actually impress him . . .”

“You are not taking that job,” Vader growls yet again. Under no circumstances is she taking that job.

This time, she easily relents. “No, I won’t. I want to make my own opportunities,” she declares staunchly.

Darth Plagueis doesn’t press the point. “Very well, but if you change your mind—“

“She won’t.”

“—then we can revisit the situation.”

“Thank you for the consideration, Prince,” Astral responds stiffly. Clearly, she’s hurt and feeling manipulated. Her cheeks are flaming.

“He’s not a prince,” Vader gripes some more.

Their visitor shrugs. “When I headed the Banking Clan, they called me the Prince of Credits. These days, I’m a Prince of Darkness. But I still have the credits,” he grins wickedly.

Vader scowls behind his mask at the smug self-flattery. “Are you done?”

“I’m just getting started.”

“We’ve heard enough. Leave.”

Plagueis ignores the dismissal. Apparently, he’s finally ready to get down to business. He now intones with grave reverence, “There has been a great disturbance in the Force.”

“He felt it,” Astral volunteers immediately. And why did she say that? You’re supposed to play your cards close to your chest in these meetings. This is a negotiation.

But Vader confirms, “I felt it.” He doesn’t need this guy to realize just how much Force he has lost since his youth. It’s a sore point. He’s embarrassed to be the underpowered Chosen One. A washed-up has-been who’s barely hanging on.

“That disturbance came from Luke Skywalker. My grandson has found a teacher,” Plagueis reveals.

Vader takes exception to his word choice. “Do not call him that.”

“You still have not accepted the truth?” the elder Sith goads.

“I have accepted the truth that you were once Darth Plagueis.”

“That’s progress, I suppose,” his nemesis replies dryly.

“Who is the teacher?” Kenobi is dead. Asokha Tano left the Jedi. There might be a handful of half-trained Padawans left, but to Vader’s knowledge no one significant still rambles around the galaxy.

“He found Master Yoda.”

Yoda? He found Yoda?? Vader is taken aback. But if it’s true, it certainly explains the massive tremor in the Force. “How do you know?”

“Master Yoda told me.”

Riiight. So this guy’s hanging out with Jedi now? Is this what exiled deposed leaders in the Force do with all their spare time? Chat with each other telepathically about old times? “Forgive my skepticism,” Vader drawls.

“Who’s Yoda?” Astral wants to know. “That name sort of rings a bell . . .”

“He is the former Grand Master of the Jedi Council,” Plagueis replies. “He was a pillar of the Old Republic.”

It’s a very charitable description coming from Plagueis. If Vader didn’t know better, he’d think this sidelined Sith actually likes the sanctimonious little green guy. Even as a Jedi, Vader never liked Yoda. But he couldn’t let on. It was very bad Jedi politics not to unconditionally revere the longtime Jedi leader.

And so, for his part, Vader describes his son’s new teacher differently. “Yoda is an old Jedi Sheev tried to kill but couldn’t. He’s a bastion of Light Side Force dogma. No doubt still firmly committed to the old ways that brought about his religion’s downfall.” Yoda’s not the greatest teacher either. He taught Count Dooku, who was an excellent swordsman but otherwise a nut.

Plagueis seems unconcerned about Luke Skywalker’s incipient Jedi training. “A little Light won’t hurt the boy. He needs to learn both sides of the Force.”

“It’s not the Force I’m worried that he’s learning. It’s all the hate and fear for Darkness.” In their own way, the Jedi could be just as paranoid and narrow minded in their orthodoxy as the Sith. But they didn’t see it that way, of course. The Jedi were always the hero-sacrificial victims in their own narratives of their never-ending war against the evil Dark Siders.

Plagueis harrumphs, “It will be fine.”

“How do you know he found Yoda?” Vader reasserts his original question.

“Master Yoda and I bump heads now and then in meditation,” Plagueis explains. “He likes to watch, as do I. And when we watch the same people, we can tend to overlap minds.” The other Sith looks to Vader pointedly. Like during their last meeting, the expression makes it seem as if Plagueis sees right through his mask. It’s uncomfortable. “He watches you. Did you know? Master Yoda feels responsible for your situation.”

“It’s too bad he didn’t kill Sidious in the Senate chamber years ago,” Vader grumbles.

“Agreed. But together we can remedy that oversight.”

“No,” Vader shoots him down. “I won’t conspire with you. I don’t need another Master.”

“You could use some guidance, my boy.” The words are gently said, but still they grate. Vader wants no more Dark training.

“We could use his help,” Astral argues softly. And why won’t she keep her mouth shut? This is Sith business and she’s a civilian. “My Lord—“

“We don’t need his help.” He shuts her down. She’s far too trusting. Astral is good and she assumes everyone else is good too. She’s wrong. “We don’t need your help,” he informs Plagueis testily.

“But we do,” Astral whispers. Then, incredibly, she turns to the pretend prince and boldly reveals, “The Emperor knows. He knows about Luke.”

Vader snarls at her, “That’s enough—“

But she is unrepentant at the disclosure. “We need his help.”

“Told him, did you?” Plagueis accuses.

“No!” Vader immediately disavows. He’s no fool. “I was betrayed.”

“Have you dealt with the leak?”

“He is dead.”

Plagueis nods but fixes him with a hard look of reproach.

Vader grunts and shrugs off the implicit criticism. “What’s done is done.”

“Indeed. This is unfortunate. Most unfortunate,” Plagueis complains with yet another ‘how did you fuck this up so badly??’ look. “Now, matters are worse.” 

“Oh . . .” Astral frets under her breath.

The Muun with the ruined face reassures her, “You were right to tell me, my dear. We must be cautious. Sheev will feel threatened. That makes him rash.” Plagueis turns back to him now. “Well . . . how did my old pupil react to the news?”

“He knows Luke is an enemy.”

“Obviously. And?”

“I promised to turn him to the Dark Side or kill him.”

“You whaaat??” Astral sputters. She’s aghast. “My Lord,” she grinds out, shooting him her own ‘how did you fuck this up so badly??’ look now.

But Darth Plagueis approves. “Well played. Sheev used the same strategy with you. If you hadn’t flipped Sith, you would have gotten Order 66. Instead, you became Order 66.”

Vader nods. The ploy is an effort to buy him time, not to kill the kid. “I now have permission to seek Luke with the full might of the Empire.”

“Which you were doing already,” the Muun nods. “Does this mean no more bounty hunters?” he smirks, needling him. 

Vader refuses to be embarrassed about that. “Whatever it takes.”

“Agreed. I rather admire your lack of scruples,” the elder Sith commends and Vader can’t tell if he’s being mocked or not. This guy is very enigmatic, from his motives to his posturing. He says all the right words, but still . . . 

“You are the key to all of this, my son. It is fortunate that Sheev sends you to hunt the boy and to confront him. We will use it to our advantage. Find him and bring him home. Reunite our family.” The Muun Sith throws back his hood now to fully reveal his ruined face. “But beware,” his low, slow voice warns, "Sheev will recognize this situation for what it is—the Force at work. Soon my old Apprentice will be as terrified of Luke Skywalker as he is of you . . . if he’s not already. That boy is latent, untapped power. Mark my words, he will be a credit to us one day when he completes his training."

And now, the supposedly long dead Sith Master neatly sums up Vader's dilemma. "You are in a very dangerous position. Sheev will watch you closer than ever now. He has a choice to make. He keeps you as Apprentice and kills the boy. Or he kills you and takes the boy as his Apprentice." 

Yes, that’s precisely how Vader analyzes the situation. He is all ears for this impromptu strategy session. Vader suspects that no one alive knows Sheev Palpatine's warped genius better than his former Master. Vader might be the more competent military commander, but he knows that he is far outclassed by Sheev when it comes to wiles and guile. So Vader is hoping that Plagueis will provide some useful intelligence. 

He does not disappoint. "Sheev loves the predictability of the Rule of Two. He will not want another Apprentice. One of you will have to die, Lord Vader. Do not under any circumstances,” Plagueis croaks, “let him get all three of you in the same room. Keep your son far, far away from your Master.”

“Agreed.” Vader wholeheartedly concurs with this wisdom.

“When you find Luke, you need to hide Astral. Better yet,” Plagueis reconsiders, “hide her now. Anywhere but your castle.”

“Why?” Astral’s frowning face betrays all of her unspoken objections. 

Plagueis answers her bluntly. “Because Sheev’s obvious next move will be to snatch you to use as leverage. He will hurt you until Lord Vader trades the boy for you. Sheev will force him to choose between his love and his son.”

Astral looks to him questioningly, and Vader nods. Plagueis is correct. It’s the classic squeeze play of the Sith. These are the brutal tactics that made Maul a natural as a crime boss. Because organized crime syndicates have nothing on the intellectual descendants of Darth Bane. The Sith know that they don’t have to control you directly. They just have to control someone you care about. Someone like Astral. 

Vader poses a question now that has dogged him. “Where do I hide the boy?”

“With me.”

Not a chance. 

“I will hide Astral for you now just to be safe,” the Muun casually offers.

No fucking way. “And make her your hostage?” Vader challenges. “So you can play Sheev’s role when I find the boy?” He’s no fool. He’s not about to get entrapped by the very scheme he is trying to avoid. 

“My Lord,” Astral starts to object. 

But Darth Plagueis waves her silent as he and the Muun continue to verbally circle one another. “Have I not earned some trust?” his Master’s old Master demands of him.

Vader doesn’t answer. He just stares the pretend prince down as he crosses his arms. He’ll never trust this guy. You never trust a Sith.

“I have had ample opportunity to steal her,” Plagueis reminds him as he advances. “For a Sith Master, one might say that I have shown considerable forbearance. Were I my former Darker self, she might be writhing in pain at this very moment. Screaming your name in torment, begging for you to come to her aid. How soon would you surrender to do my bidding then, I wonder?”

The veiled threat doesn’t get past him. Vader now rumbles back his own hypothetical warning. “You know that if you make that move, I will go straight to Sheev and tell him you’re alive so he can finish the job he started forty years ago.”

“Sheev already knows I’m alive,” the elder Dark Lord reveals. “He has known for decades now." 

“How?” Vader demands.

“The same way that I know Yoda lives. The Force cannot conceal great power. Not entirely. You know that. Strong Force users never remain anonymous for long. Your son—my grandson—is the case in point.”

Vader has no rejoinder. Again, Darth Plagueis is correct.

For her part, Astral just stands there looking from one man to another warily. She clearly feels the palpable—and growing--tension between himself and this Sith heavyweight.

Plagueis advances closer now. They are only a few paces apart. The Muun’s distorted features twist into a grimace. He’s angry, Vader senses. Offended.

“I remind you, Lord Vader, that for years I watched my grandson grow up on a backwater, Hutt-controlled, desert Hellhole. At any point, I could have killed the Jedi who watched over him and stole the boy back. I might have raised Luke Skywalker to be the instrument of my revenge against Sheev. But I did not. I let that child grow up in a poor but stable home where people loved him. He was raised wholly ignorant of the Force and of his true importance. All so that he would have the benefit of normalcy which you, my son, did not. The cycle of dysfunction in our clan needs to end. One generation was enough.”

Did Darth Plagueis just call him fucked up? Vader bristles at the very personal criticism. 

“It was a blessing for that child to grow up without the burden of our legacy. Not to be beset by the expectations inherent in being the son of Darth Vader and the grandson of Darth Plagueis. Not to have to live up to the exploits of the hero general Anakin Skywalker or the accomplishments of the Senator Queen Padme Amidala. That kid was raised a humble farm boy whose concerns were work and school, not the fate of the galaxy and the Force. But he’s a young man now, and it is time he learns the truth of his family. We will tell him together.”

Not a chance. Vader isn’t letting this guy near his son.

But the secret Sith Lord seems to take Vader’s silence for agreement, for he slyly observes, “This is what Sheev fears most—our alliance.”

“There is no alliance.” He’s a free agent. Vader refuses to agree to any pact. 

The Muun ignores him and walks through the scenario he envisions. “My old Apprentice knows that with our combined strength we can easily depose him. You, me, and Luke Skywalker together will be invincible. The Force will be with us.”

Did he not say it clearly enough? Vader snaps back, “I’m not joining you.”

“Not yet, perhaps,” the Muun allows. “But in time, you will. I have foreseen it,” he proclaims with irritating sagacity. 

“The future is always in motion,” Vader retorts. Whatever this guy has seen, it is far from a foregone conclusion. There are many different paths the future can take now. This whole situation smacks of danger and destiny. It’s exciting but also deeply troubling. 

“We will meet. Father, son, and grandson. I have foreseen it.”

Vader refuses to fall prey to this guy’s machinations. Glaring indignantly at Darth Plagueis the Wise, Vader now quotes an old Jedi maxim: “The Force misleads as often as it reveals.” 

Plagueis must recognize the Light Side teaching, for he grins wickedly. Mocking him. But his words relent. “So true, so true. Very well,” the Muun breezily concedes, “keep your independence. And for now, Astral’s welfare will remain your concern.” The towering Sith wags a bony finger at him. “That means her fate is on your conscience, Lord Vader. Take care that she is adequately protected. My old Apprentice will have no qualms about harming her.”

“Understood.” Vader has no illusions about who his Master is.

Plagueis now resumes plotting for Luke. "I strongly suspect that the boy does not know anything about his true heritage. I do not know what lies Kenobi and Lars told him, but we will discover them and use them to our advantage."

"Kenobi is dead,” Vader volunteers. 

"Did you get your revenge?"

"A sword through the neck," Vader announces with grim satisfaction. 

"Good." Plagueis nods his approval. "Having Kenobi dead will make things easier. That just leaves Master Yoda to discredit. Tell me, what do you have of young Luke’s mother? Boys always love their mothers." 

“He has her things,” Astral speaks up.

"Excellent. The boy will be curious and we will need to supply answers. We will share the truths that have long been hidden from him. That is how we will earn his trust and undermine the influence of the Jedi and the Rebellion. Our truth will be far more seductive than their lies,” Plagueis predicts.

It’s a good strategy, Vader has to admit. 

"Lord Vader, when you find your son, you must do two things: tell him who you are and be merciful. Pain and suffering can be highly persuasive, but loyalty is best won with the mind and with the heart. Once you tell the boy the truth, let him go. He will return to you out of curiosity. The first meeting is the setup for the second. This should not be rushed." 

This advice does not sit well. For now, Vader is feeling played. This Muun who at their first meeting had announced that he is Vader’s own father is now instructing him to make the same announcement to Luke Skywalker. Urging Vader to manipulate his son the very same way Plagueis is attempting to manipulate him right now. Does this Muun think him to be a fool? And what is he really up to? 

Vader’s reputation for casual violence must prompt his would-be co-conspirator to reiterate himself. "I am a wily old Sith, Lord Vader. I have no qualms about violence so long as it serves a purpose. But I pride myself in achieving more through plots than through pain. We are trying to create an ally. Do not lose sight of that goal." 

Vader bristles behind his mask at this condescension. Perhaps it is good advice, but Vader only hears the implicit criticism that he is an unthinking brute who cannot control his temper. Well, he doesn't want to be lectured to. He doesn't need advice on how to claim his own son. And he doesn't take instructions from Darth Plagueis. He will do this his own way. 

Does Plagueis sense his recalcitrance? Again, the man nags him. “Remember, do not hurt the boy. No matter what leftwing Rebel propaganda he spouts, no matter what he says about Kenobi or the Jedi. And no matter what he says about you. That boy has been brought up on lies. He might not recognize the truth when he hears it. People seldom do."

And ouch, that last point—punctuated by a sideways glance--stings a bit. But Darth Plagueis moves on. He turns back to Astral. “Now, my dear, let us please end on a happy note. Are congratulations in order? Will there be a wedding soon?”

Astral blinks and inhales at the question. She looks put on the spot. Her face flames. “You overheard . . .”

She looks to him, but Vader says nothing. He wants to see where this is going.

“Come now, don’t be shy. Make an old man happy.” Plagueis walks towards Astral now, outstretching his big clawed hand, which she tentatively accepts. The exiled Sith stands there, holding her hand as he wheedles, “Tell me, will you plight your troth to Lord Vader? Will you be the bride to the last Sith Lord? If we succeed, Darth Vader will be the last of his kind, the final name on a long line of Dark warrior priests of the Force, the man who will end the longstanding schism between Light and Dark and usher in a new age of enlightenment.”

The gargoyle faced Muun puts on the hard sell as matchmaker. Hideous and intimidating though he is, the old guy is also silver tongued and smooth. He overflows with quick, florid sincerity. “Be his lady, be our Empress, be my new daughter,” he croaks and coaxes. “Let us together welcome home Luke Skywalker. You have a role to play in this too.”

Vader watches Astral swallow hard.

Plagueis notices as well. “Do not be afraid to take this step,” he implores. “You already have the courage. You have risked plenty already. Make the final commitment.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Vader feels compelled to speak up as Astral looks to him in worried confusion. 

“See?” Plagueis seizes upon his words. “He’s no Sith. That’s your beloved’s conflicted Chosen One soul talking. A true Dark Lord would have chained you to the wall of his castle, slashed your hand, seduced you, and made you like it. He would take whatever he wants. There’s no asking with a Lord of the Shadow Force. Trust me, I speak from long experience. Five wives have I outlived. Three I wooed, one I bought, and the last I stole. But enough about me,” the Muun brags. “It’s time to move past all that. To turn the page on a thousand generations of religious conflict that have ruled our politics and shaped the galaxy. Help Lord Vader,” Plagueis outright croons, “to help us all. Be the quiet strength behind his throne. Steady him.”

For her part, Astral looks impressed. But Vader is glad he’s wearing a mask as he listens to this crescendoing monologue of bullshit. He doesn’t believe for one minute that Plagueis is going to let him rule the galaxy.

It’s all a grandiose lie. It’s too late for him to balance the Force. He’ll never kill his Master. He’ll never rule the Empire. Those are failures he accepted long ago. But Luke Skywalker might do it. The only goal left for Vader is saving his son from the clutches of Sheev, Yoda, and Plagueis, each of whom will seek to use the boy for their own aims. This isn’t about some great reformation of the Force and it isn’t a coup. It’s a rescue mission.

But . . . he’s no fool. Vader fully recognizes his own self-interest in this conversation. He keeps his mouth shut. Sometimes silence is a very effective negotiation tactic.

Why does Plagueis want this marriage so badly? What’s his angle? Maybe he sees Astral as an ally and he wants her firmly ensconced with wife status. But Vader sees the upside to himself, so he will let this play out.

Plagueis seems to be just warming up. Now, he piles on the cloying schmaltz. “Make this a new beginning. Let us forge our family anew. Cruel circumstances have separated the Skywalkers. Let us rebuild what has been lost. First, a wedding. Next, we will welcome home our prodigal son. And then, we will reclaim the galaxy from that tyrant and remake the Force. Nothing will stand in our way with the Force on our side.”

Astral nods along like she’s agreeing. Plagueis himself looks like he might actually believe the lines he’s feeding her. And it’s a good story, Vader will grant him that. His younger, less cynical self might have fallen for those ambitions. Maybe it’s because he was raised Jedi, but he’s always been a sucker for a gauzy, romantic vision for the future. Vader knows he’s got too much altruism in him to be a good Sith. Sheev knows it too.

“No more Death Stars. No more Alderaans. No more Rebels. No more war. Our family will bring peace, freedom, justice, and security to the galaxy. In time, once we do what must be done, all will prosper. And at long last, the universe will come into balance.”

Vader smirks because what’s next? A chicken in every pot? Lower taxes? Making the galaxy great again? This guy is really laying it on thick.

“Are you with us, my Lady?” After that long lead up, Plagueis pops the question. And, truthfully, it feels very uncomfortable to be watching someone else propose marriage on your behalf. This guy is going to want a finder’s fee if she accepts, Vader figures.

But still, Astral hesitates. It’s understandable. Signing up to be the ride-or-die chick for a Sith Lord has a special emphasis on death, after all. But Astral already has that risk from his Master’s knowledge of their relationship. Plus, they plot high treason together. Danger lurks everywhere for Astral, Vader knows. She knows it, too. Although Vader suspects that her reluctance tonight has less to do with fear of an Imperial arrest warrant and more to do with fear of failure. She had her heart broken once and she’s reluctant to believe in happily-ever-after again.

It’s something he can appreciate himself, actually.

“Control your fear,” Plagueis counsels, momentarily glancing over at him. “Give in to your desires. You know you want this. There is no shame in wanting this.” The creepy Muun sounds like he’s doing the classic Dark Side lure before he abruptly skews Light for his big finish. “Choose hope. Choose love,” he proclaims in a rather ridiculous statement for a Sith Lord.

But that line clinches the deal, Vader sees as he watches Astral’s face closely.

A slow, wide smile creeps across the Muun’s ruined features in response. “Well? Will you have him?”

Astral looks to him again. Vader keeps his silence but nods his encouragement. He’s been ready to sign up for life with Astral ever since their first night at the castle. He’s always needed attachments. And if any woman can fill the aching void left by Padme Amidala, she can.

Looking a bit terrified, Astral nods back. With a fortifying breath she commits, “Y-Yes. I will marry him.”

“Good. Goooood,” their visitor approves like he’s the lucky groom. Even as a projection, his blue eyes flash feral yellow in the moment. It’s merely a flicker, but Vader catches it. It betrays his true self. It reveals the lust for power behind his words. He’s doing what Sith Masters always do: they give you what you want in order to achieve their own goals.

Smiling Plagueis offers his other hand to him now. Vader returns the gesture. It’s mostly out of curiosity to see what his Force projection feels like. It feels alarmingly real. Damn, this guy is good. It’s intimidating.

Plagueis now joins his gloved hand with Astral’s hand. She smiles over at him. Is she nervous or relieved? Vader can’t tell. But he is hopeful even though this whole scene is completely bizarre. That his engagement has just been brokered by a leftover zombie Sith Lord is pretty ridiculous. Plagueis has swooped in like some Dark Side fairy godmother to negotiate their marriage. It’s far from romantic. But this guy is persuasive. Vader respects his manipulations even as he sees through them. Plagueis is good, he’ll grant him that. And today, those manipulations have earned him Astral’s hand.

“You have my blessing. May the Force be with you,” the wily deposed Sith Master announces, looking every inch the proud papa. “Now, I will leave you two alone so you can make plans. Don’t forget to kiss your bride,” Plagueis smirks over at him man to man. Then, the mysterious pretend prince disappears.

“Did that just happen?” Astral wonders aloud. She sounds a little stunned as she stares where the prince was just standing.

“Cold feet already?” Vader responds.

“No.”

“Liar.”

Astral turns into him as she reveals, “I ran into Lady Sidious this morning at an Alderaan memorial. She tried to scare me away with talk of how dangerous you are.”

“Be careful with her. But she’s right. I am dangerous. All of this is dangerous.”

“I know that.”

“What did you tell her?” He’s curious. Sheev’s wife has always been something of a loose cannon.

“I told her that I know what I’m getting into.” Astral says this with conviction. And maybe she does, Vader considers. After all, Sheev’s threatened to kill her, she’s sat in a jail cell, she’s been an accessory to treason, and she’s conducted clandestine meetings with his Master’s mortal, but immortal, enemy. That’s a pretty good introduction to what life will be like with him.

But he’s well aware that Astral was nudged into accepting. “Does that mean we’re really doing this?” he asks. He’s willing to let her back out if she needs to. He will not force this issue. Nothing good will come of that.

But Astral stands by her decision. “We’re doing this. I guess I’m the second Lady Vader,” she muses, looking more than a little intimidated.

“No,” he corrects her, reaching out a gloved hand to cup at her cheek. She’s very lovely in the moment, her pretty face upturned as the night breeze rustles her hair. “You’re the first Lady Vader. Padme married a Jedi. She would never have accepted a Sith.”

Padme would hate everything he has become and would condemn him for it. After two decades a Sith, she would only see the worst in him, whereas Astral seems determined to find the best. It’s why from the outset, he knew he could love Astral. She accepts him. He needs that. For from his Master to the galaxy at large, he receives mostly criticism. Finally, at long last, he has someone to stand with him. Tonight is less a new beginning than it is an enormous break with the past. But twenty years of mourning is long enough. Astral Sidhu is no Padme Amidala, and that’s a good thing. This woman isn’t what he thought he wanted, but she is what he needs. And now that he’s closer to age fifty than he is age twenty, he has a lot more self-awareness.

“Let’s go.” He reaches for her hand. “Let’s get out of here.” Before that pesky Muun third wheel returns.

“I’m not going to the Palace.”

Astral’s afraid, and he understands. Vader wants nothing further to mar this night, so he immediately counteroffers, “My star destroyer is in orbit.”

It’s just them now. Vader wants to do things properly and to propose to Astral himself. Then, safely tucked away in private in his medical capsule, he can seal the deal with a kiss and more. This engagement needs a lot more romance and less negotiation. He’s seen arms deals that had less deliberation.

As Astral grabs her purse, he summons his men with a transport. The troopers are curious naturally, especially when they see him offer his hand to steady Astral as she climbs up the ramp onto the hovering ship. That’s not normally how he interacts with women. Especially ones he sends his men to collect at gunpoint. But whatever. If Sheev knows about Astral, then his men can know. Unlike his Master’s wife, Lady Vader is not someone to be ashamed of.

Are there second chances for a Sith? Yes, indeed, there are. Astral is a second chance. So is Luke Skywalker. This time, Vader vows, he’s not going to fuck it up. Destiny looks a lot different than he thought it would twenty years ago, but this could still be good in the end. And so, still holding Astral’s hand, Vader gives it a squeeze. Without looking over, she squeezes back. Then, they part for the ride to the _Executor_. He goes to check the latest status of the search for the _Millennium Falcon_ as she finds a seat in the back by the window.


	25. chapter 25

Astral learns that being a bride the second time around is very different than the first. She’s not walking into a bridal boutique with her mother and her close girlfriends to spend hours debating gowns. This time, Astral walks in alone and has to clarify that she’s not the mother of the bride. She’s here for her own wedding dress and, yes, it’s a second marriage so no white please. Astral wants something age appropriate and simple. Nothing costumey either. She wants to look like the bridal version of her regular self. It proves to be a much harder task than she imagined. There’s considerably less anticipation and giggles, and a lot fewer options to choose from, twenty years later. 

Where is the ceremony? On a beach? In a church? At an event space? Maybe a private home? Astral doesn’t know. Probably on Lord Vader’s star destroyer or at his castle, she figures. But neither are acceptable answers, so she fibs and claims it’s a very private ceremony in a secluded location. Just you, the witnesses, and the judge or minister? Again, Astral improvises with vague white lies. She doesn’t even have an exact wedding date. ‘As soon as practicable’ was what she and Lord Vader had agreed upon. And who knows what that means with his schedule? He’s fighting a war and chasing his son, after all.

Strangely enough, the ad hoc approach is fine by her. Her younger self had obsessed over all the minor wedding details, but now Astral is content to let all that slide. She wants a dress and some flowers, and that’s it. The rest doesn’t matter. For she learned from last time how completely meaningless all the pomp and circumstance were to her long-term happiness. What really matters is who you are marrying. Whether they have the same expectations and commitment that you do. And luck. Every marriage needs a little luck. Lord Vader would say there’s no such thing as luck, but Astral disagrees. Call it the Force, call it karma, call it God, call it whatever. But every relationship needs a little grace bestowed upon it now and then.

Astral settles on a very plain dress in a supple fabric. The wide neckline perches on the edges of her shoulders to show a little skin but the tight sleeves hug her arms for an elegant line. The dress falls to the floor with an attached watteau train to lend it gravitas. Something about officially becoming Lady Vader makes Astral feel like she needs a cape. The dress is a dove grey with a subtle, silvery sheen. There is nothing flashy—no bling or ornament—to upstage the woman wearing it. After a critical look in the mirror with the saleslady hovering, Astral’s one concession to relieve the outfit’s chic austerity is a crystal hair ornament. Her hair has grown back long enough to pull up into a tousled chignon.

“You look like an Empress,” the saleslady gushes. And yes, that’s the point. Astral could someday fill that role if all goes well. And if not? Well, she is content to keep the status quo. Astral is mostly concerned that Lord Vader and her are safe, happy, and together through whatever the future brings. That’s the legacy of Alderaan showing, she knows. For once your entire life is blasted to cosmic dust out of the blue, you learn to let go of the need to control little things and to plan too much. Great loss is an emotional upheaval that brings a new perspective. You pare down the list of people and things you care about, and you let go of the rest.

As she exits the bridal shop, Astral catches her surveillance man following her. That she’s marrying Lord Vader won’t stay a secret for long, she suspects. She’s not telling people, of course, and neither is he. But the groom is far too public a figure for his crew and his subordinates not to begin to notice her existence over time. She’s not sure how they will handle that problem, actually.

In fact, she and Lord Vader haven’t spent any time talking about how their lives will change with this marriage. That’s mostly because the future is so unsettled. Luke Skywalker is the wildcard that could change everything. For they both know that Lord Vader’s future is inextricably linked to his son’s fate. The choices the two men make and the consequences that flow from those decisions will determine many things. But in the meantime, until that boy is found, Astral is hoping that life will stay as is except there will be a formal commitment between her and Lord Vader. So while nothing is really changing, everything is changing. And in the long run, her life could be radically different. It’s too soon to tell just yet.

And perhaps all that uncertainty makes this a foolish time to embark on marriage. Maybe they should be waiting until there are fewer unknowns. But they’re not kids waiting until they finish school. They are mature adults who know better than most how fleeting happiness is. And that makes Astral want to grab it and hold tight. To seize the day and plan to weather whatever storms lie ahead. That attitude is yet again the legacy of Alderaan showing. For Astral knows in a very real way that tomorrow is not promised to anyone. Least of all to the Sith Apprentice who plots to subvert his Emperor Master and to hide away his adult enemy son.

So much of this secret wedding is unorthodox and impromptu that Astral can’t help but wonder why they are even doing it. She’s doing it for Lord Vader mostly. He seems to want more certainty that they are committed to one another. However their current relationship can be described, it’s clearly not enough for him. Astral knows what he wants, of course. He wants love. He dances around it a lot, but he never goes there directly. Even the night of their engagement, there was talk of commitment and trust, words of endearment and hope for the future, but no mention of love. Neither of them wanted to go there, Astral suspects. Probably because she’s too scared to offer love and be let down, and he’s too scared to offer love and be rejected. So they both took refuge in euphemisms as a proxy for those magic three words.

That’s enough for her, but is it enough for him? She wonders. He’s so needy. It took Astral awhile to realize just how desperate for love Lord Vader truly is. He hides it well with his fearsome demeanor that rejects everyone at the outset before they can reject him. But it all makes perfect sense. This is a man who never got the mother’s love he wanted and who lost the wife he needed far too soon. The many long years of physical isolation in his suit and mask have only compounded his loneliness. And that’s not counting the effect of his high rank and his Force, which combine to make him especially intimidating to others. Quite frankly, Darth Vader has no peers other than the Master he loathes. And that means he has spent far too much time alone with his own thoughts. Mulling over his regrets and frustrations, working himself into a deeper and Darker depression without anyone to help him cope.

And so, Astral can’t help but worry: is she a fool to be marrying this man? 

Is Lady Sidious right, and she should be running fast the opposite direction?

Maybe so, but it’s too late for that. Astral is smitten. Because thanks to the combined calamities of the Death Star and his Master’s cruel punishment, Astral became Lord Vader’s caregiver and then his friend. She next progressed to confidante, then to lover, and now to wife. All in record time. 

How exactly did this happen? It’s because Astral sees sides to Darth Vader that no one else does. For he reverts to his gruff, brusque, and ruthless persona with all but his closest helpers. It’s one part defense mechanism and one part deliberate public image. It’s a stance crafted long ago by his Master’s desire for a bad cop counterpart to his good cop role. And also by Lord Vader’s own insecurities about his daunting infirmities. It’s very effective posturing. No one questions the man’s power and fitness—they are too busy being terrified of him.

But Astral knows the truth. The powerless, scorned slave boy grew up to crave power and position, even when he was still working within the Jedi tradition. It’s no accident that he eventually flipped Sith and ran wild with galactic ambitions. But he can’t quite succeed at being truly power mad like his Master. The former Anakin Skywalker is just too altruistic at his core. Therein lies his conflict. He’s simply not selfish enough to be fully Dark, even if he is too selfish to be a Light Side Jedi. He needed people too much for the Jedi Order. Wanted to be admired and adored as well. Even now, decades later, Darth Vader still wants to be the hero. Astral loves that about him, actually.

But Lady Sidious is right—Lord Vader is a bit of a mess. Who knew so powerful a man could be so insecure? Who knew a man so fierce could be so vulnerable? It all comes out in moments like that night she got marched out of the restaurant at gunpoint. That was aggressive, possessive, jealous Darth Vader handling things the way he usually handles them—by flexing his muscles. He’s not a man with much subtlety—mainly, she suspects, because his role is to play the heavy. After their argument about his stunt was over and Lord Vader’s motives were revealed, Astral had been less angry than she had been concerned. He’s still so scarred by his first wife’s rejection and betrayal, she recognizes. But he handled it all wrong. Upset Darth Vader seems to react first and think later. That worries her for the future, most especially for the inevitable first meeting with Luke Skywalker.

But that’s a problem for another day. The issue at hand is marriage. Through Vanee as messenger, Astral and Lord Vader agree to meet at Mustafar Castle. For once, she will get to plan in advance to see him. That means she can request time off work and arrange for all the bridal beauty lead up appointments she desires.

Suddenly, Astral is excited. Anticipation kicks in and she truly feels like a bride. She’s anxious for the big day to come and a bit scared as well. It’s a good sort of scared. The sort of scared that speaks to the meaning of the commitment she will make, as opposed to outright panic. Yes, Astral was maneuvered into this wedding. But instead of resenting that fact, she is secretly relieved. She needed a nudge to get this far, but in truth she does not regret it. In fact, as time slips by, she finds herself counting down the days until she becomes Missus Darth Vader.

Finally, the wedding is upon her. Astral arrives to the remote castle with Vanee. He reintroduces her to the regular castle staff, most of whom she met a year ago right before she left for Coruscant. Clearly, this time around the staff has been told that she’s important. Everyone is especially polite and solicitous whereas before Astral was mostly ignored as irrelevant.

Astral is shown to her old room. It is the room for the mistress of the castle. The one that adjoins Lord Vader’s chamber. This time, no one comments that this placement is highly unusual.

Where is Lord Vader? He’s in his bacta bath. Knowing her way around, Astral heads next to the medical facilities. She is walking through the double doors where she once kept guard duty when a familiar voice shouts her name happily.

“Astral!”

She grins. “Doctor!” It’s Doctor Levy, Darth Vader’s personal physician. Unlike the arm’s length formality of the castle staff she just met, he rushes up to envelope Astral in an exuberant bear hug. It lifts her off her feet.

When he sets her down, she’s laughing. “Look at you—a man in uniform!” She’s never seen the baby-faced young doctor wear anything other than baggy medical scrubs. They’re usually dirty, too.

“I’m in the Imperial Navy,” he admits sheepishly, now straightening his spit-and-polish, sharply tailored officer’s uniform. “I rarely wear the outfit. Too much blood and gore in my line of work.”

“Well, I like it,” Astral approves. “It makes you look important. And older. Like a real doctor,” she teases.

Like longtime friends who instantly resume where things left off even after a long separation, Astral and Doctor Levy now carry on their easy rapport from those long, hard days of Lord Vader’s recuperation. “Come to see the boss?” he asks.

She nods. “Vanee says he is in the tank.”

“He should be done soon. You know how much he hates the sticky stuff. Come on,” Dr. Levy beckons her forward towards the chamber at the end of the hallway where Lord Vader’s bacta tank is housed.

Like everything else at the castle, the tank is customized for his specific needs. Inside the murky, bubbling cylinder full of super healing fluid, Lord Vader floats suspended on an internal harness to support his limbless frame. The steam from the tank obscures things a bit, but you can still see the exposed injuries of Lord Vader, including the full extent of his amputations since the prosthetics are removed for the treatment.

“No privacy?” Astral remarks, feeling reflexively protective of her Sith. She doesn’t like that his tank is surrounded by red robed Imperial guards. Even though they are facing away, she worries he will be gawked at.

Dr. Levy shrugs. “He’s used to it. And he is very vulnerable like this. You never know when some Rebels might show up.”

He’s right, but Astral still doesn’t like it. She says so. “I don’t like it.”

“I can get you a gun if you would prefer to stand guard yourself,” the doctor jokes. “No one will object. You’ve been known to get your man when it comes to intruders,” he alludes to the Imperial Inquisitor Astral shot to death.

She groans. “Don’t remind me. It wasn’t my proudest moment.”

The young doctor puts things in perspective. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Good point.” But anxious to change the topic from those bad memories, Astral invites, “Tell me what’s new with you.”

The doctor catches her up on what he’s been doing and Astral shares updates of her new life on Coruscant. They chat away as the bacta tank hums and splashes and the Imperial guards stand silent and still for sentry duty. No doubt the guards are listening closely. That keeps Astral from sharing the news about her marriage openly. But she suspects that the doctor and everyone else already knows.

“He sure is ripped these days,” the doctor observes of Darth Vader as they wait.

It’s true. Lord Vader has been swinging his sword a lot in practice lately. It’s how he blows off steam. But it’s given him quite the muscled physique underneath his suit.

“I knew those heavier prosthetics would bulk him up, but damn . . . he’s like a disabled superhero.”

Astral stifles a smile. Strange though it might seem to others, she thinks Lord Vader has a very attractive body. What’s left of it, that is. And the burn scars really aren’t so bad once you get used to them. The worst are on his face, unfortunately.

“He looks good. Great, in fact. This is the healthiest I’ve seen him.” The doctor slants his eyes her direction. “Your doing, I suppose?”

Astral says nothing, but her eyes twinkle.

“He still rages around a lot, but even the crew thinks he’s a little happier. They all think it’s due to the recent victories over the Rebels, but I know better. It’s the Astral effect,” Doctor Levy teases under his breath.

Maybe some of Lord Vader’s improved humor is her doing, Astral muses, but she mostly credits his lifted spirits to hope--hope for Luke Skywalker. The emergence of Lord Vader’s son has given him renewed interest in the future. After the initial shock of the discovery and all the unhappy memories and true fear it dredged up, Darth Vader has come to embrace the idea of his long-lost son. Luke Skywalker gives Lord Vader new reason to soldier on these days. The stakes are higher than ever, but that seems to be a good thing. The man loves a challenge.

A loud whooshing sound alerts them to the bacta tank draining. The shower jets deploy to wash the sticky fluid from Lord Vader’s body. “Looks like he’s done. Maybe you should do this.” Dr. Levy shoots her a conspiratorial grin. “You remember how to attach the prosthetics, right? Arms first.”

“Of course.” Astral never assisted with the bacta baths during her time at the castle. Vanee and the doctor had handled all the highly personal matters for Lord Vader. But she cleaned those implanted collars plenty when she lived here. And she knows how to help him don his mechanical limbs.

“Good. Then here.” Dr. Levy hands her the towel he’s holding. “Go be all wifey,” he whispers. “Give the old guy some TLC.”

“Okay,” Astral agrees but mumbles, “He’s surrounded by guards. It’s not like we’re alone.”

“All the red dudes face out,” the doctor reminds her. “And none of them have the Force to know what you’re doing over there without looking. So if you start the honeymoon early and there’s a happy ending, they won’t know—“

“Doctor!” Astral huffs.

“I’m just saying—from a clinical perspective, sex is good for your health--“

“Get out!” she orders, her face flaming.

He laughs. “That’s very Lady Vader of you. Giving commands like that.”

“Get out!”

“I’m going . . . I’m going,” he laughs, his hands raised in mock surrender.

“Careful, or I’ll make sure you get choked,” Astral grumbles.

“Nah, I’m more likely to get a promotion if I prescribe him—“

“Out!” she bellows imperiously.

Dr. Levy exits humming ‘Here comes the bride’ as red faced Astral fumes.

She gingerly steps past a pair of guards and around to the far side of the bacta tank. The shower jets are finished. The upright cylinder slides open. Next, the harness inside lowers automatically to deposit the dripping patient onto a bench that deploys. 

“I knew you arrived,” Lord Vader tells her as she steps forward. His voice is muffled from the oxygen mask he wears to breath inside the tank. But he must be smiling because his eyes crinkle at the corners and his cheeks lift behind the apparatus.

“Hello, my Lord,” Astral smiles back. She immediately reaches to towel off the prosthetic collar on his right arm and then his left arm. She knows how helpless he feels without his artificial limbs, so Astral wants to get them on as soon as possible. The rest of him can wait.

“Did you ditch Levy?”

“It’s just us and the guards,” she nods. “Ready?” Astral holds up the longer of the two arm prosthetics. It’s the replacement for his right arm, the one he lost to Count Dooku. It’s also his dominant side and his sword arm. Astral knows to reattach it first. The heavy artificial limb clicks in easily. Then, she turns her attention to the left arm. It slides into place straightaway as well.

“Good?” she asks. 

“Good.” Lord Vader nabs the towel with his newly attached arms and starts drying off as she reaches for a leg prosthetic. “Are you sure you want to sign up for this job permanently?” he asks offhand, watching her.

“Yep. Hold still while I do this.” She repositions his right leg. 

“It’s not too late to back out.”

“Sure, it is,” she answers, knowing full well that he’s only pretending to talk her out of marriage. It’s really her cue to recommit. To reassure. This man can be very insecure at times. So, she responds lightly, “I’ve already bought the dress, and it was expensive. You have to marry me now.”

He lifts the stump of his left leg for her to attach its replacement as well. “Well, if you insist—“

“I insist.” She snaps on his remaining limb. “You must make an honest woman of me, my Lord.”

Astral now grabs an extra towel to wipe at the moisture beading on his face and head. She starts making her way down from there. Neck . . . shoulders . . . chest. She’s careful around the implanted electrical ports where his chest plate connects. They are often sore, she knows. But they need to be fully dried before his chest plate can connect. Short circuits will hurt him.

“You’re better at this than Levy,” he observes as he ceases his own wiping and submits to her efforts. 

Astral teases, “I’m used to seeing you naked.”

He grunts. “It’s not a pretty sight.” Again, he prods, “It’s not too late to back out. I’m serious. You don’t have to marry me.”

Astral ignores him as she keeps patting and wiping off water and the random detritus of congealed sticky bacta fluid. “So how exactly do we get married? How do the Sith marry?” 

“A blood oath in the moonlight in a Temple ritual chamber followed by sex on the altar.”

Astral is sorry she asked. She drops the towel. “S-Sex where??” she gulps wide eyed. 

“It’s an ancient custom.” Lord Vader is clearly enjoying her flustered reaction, but he immediately concedes, “All that hocus pocus Sheev loves has very little to do with the Force. I want to move past all that.”

“Okay. Good.” Whew. “So—“

“You’re off the hook for consummating things in a cold, dark Temple.”

She frowns. “Sounds uncomfortable.”

Darth Vader laughs at her prosaic assessment. He so rarely laughs. It makes her giggle a little too loudly in response. With a self-conscious glance towards the guards who surround them and surely overhear, Astral asks softly, “How did you and Padme marry?”

“It was a civil ceremony on Naboo. The Jedi have no marriage traditions.”

“Right. That makes sense.” She worries now, “Is there a robe or something?” This man is entirely too exposed to march around his castle in underclothes that are currently the male equivalent of a wet t-shirt contest.

“On the hook behind you,” he prompts.

“Oh, right.” She turns to reach for the garment. It’s black, naturally.

“We can’t do a civil ceremony,” he tells her, reverting back to the topic of marriage. “You and I can’t show up at some courthouse and get a marriage license. It would be all over the holonet and you would never be able to continue living anonymously afterwards on Coruscant.”

“So where does that leave us?” Astral asks as she helps him put on the robe. “Can the captain of your starship marry us?”

Lord Vader dismisses the idea. “Piett’s an idiot. Not him.”

“Fine. But I don’t want your Master to marry us.”

“Hell no,” he groans. 

“Then who?”

“Why don’t we just do it ourselves?” Lord Vader suggests as he stands up and ties the robe over his dripping undershorts. Next, he busies himself detaching the oxygen mask he wears that is connected to the tank equipment. In its place, he puts on the regular oxygen mask he uses around his castle.

“Don’t you need some authority figure? A public official or clergy?” she worries. 

“I am a public official. I guess I’m technically a Dark priest, too.”

“But don't we need witnesses? You know, to make it legal.”

“The galaxy is a dictatorship. The only legitimate authority comes from Sheev.”

She nods glumly. “I guess you’re right.”

“We’ll do whatever you want,” he offers, “but I just figured we would do it ourselves.”

“How?”

“We exchange promises.”

“Okay.” That could be sweet. “When?”

“Today?” he asks hopefully. 

Why not? “Sounds good,” she agrees.

Lord Vader now slips off his dripping undershorts and dumps them on the pile of wet towels. He’s covered by his long, thick robe, but Astral is scandalized. “Are you . . . commando??” she squeaks. 

He shrugs. “It’s my castle.” 

“Yes, but there are people around.” Lots of people around. “Where’s the suit?”

“Down the hall. Come on,” he drapes a bare prosthetic arm over her shoulders in full view of the guards as he steers her towards the exit. This is Lord Vader in his own home, metal feet scratching the shiny floor, leaving a trail of water droplets and a pile of dirty laundry behind him. He’s relaxed and happy. It’s homey and nice.

But wife-like, she worries, “Aren’t you cold?”

“This is Mustafar. It’s hot, remember?”

He dons the suit and she disappears for an hour to primp and zip into her dress. When she emerges from her room, Lord Vader is waiting with his helmet under his arm. Pretty much the whole household staff—including those red guards from earlier—wait with him. Everyone, it seems, has come to see the bride. As Astral walks out, her slightly wilted, but still pretty little nosegay in hand, they break into spontaneous applause.

Astral blushes to the roots of her hair. She hadn’t expected this reception. But she gamely walks forward to accept her groom’s outstretched gloved hand. 

“You look beautiful,” he tells her in front of everyone. 

She ducks her chin. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I know. I want to say it. You look beautiful. You are beautiful. Ready to get married?”

“Yes,” she says without hesitation. 

“Good. Come.” He leads her to the castle entrance and out onto the landing pad. His personal TIE fighter awaits idling. Lord Vader helps her inside and directs her to the gunner’s seat. “Strap in.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

The TIE lifts off and Lord Vader directs her attention to the landing pad below. The household staff has followed them outside. They stand as a group waving and cheering. It makes Astral grin. Darth Vader might be the most hated man in the galaxy, but he has his select group of fans. She’s not surprised that the people who know him best are his supporters. They know what she knows—that there is more to Lord Vader than his public persona.

“Where are we going?” she asks again as he navigates the small fighter through the planetary shield gate and jumps to hyperspace. 

“We’re going to the most beautiful place in the galaxy. What better place to marry a beautiful woman?”

“Does it have a name?”

“The Queluhan Nebula. I used to think the most beautiful place in the galaxy was the moons of Iego until I saw this nebula . . . and until I saw those moons.”

“They were a letdown?”

“The Separatists were encamped there. War sort of ruined it for me. But this place is still good. There’s no war, and it’s close. It’s basically the edge of the Unknown Regions.”

When they exit hyperspace, Astral unbuckles and shimmies past the equipment to Lord Vader’s pilot side of the fighter. The big circular TIE window provides a fantastic view. 

“Wow . . . “ she exhales, mouth open. She’s momentarily transfixed as she stares out. “Just wow.”

Lord Vader reaches to gently tug her down into his lap. “Do you like it?” he whispers huskily in her ear. He’s got his shiny helmet off and he’s wearing just the basic pilot’s respirator mask. 

“It’s amazing.” Truly amazing. Just look at those colors. It’s like a rainbow in space. “I love it.”

“Maybe someday I will be able to give you the galaxy, but for now this will have to do.”

“I love it. It’s perfect. And I don’t need the galaxy. I only need you.” She turns to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Ready to say ‘I do?’”

“Astral, I . . . I . . .” He falters. It’s so uncharacteristic to see him at a loss for words, that she waits patiently. She knows that whatever is coming next, it is important.

He tries again. “In my life, I have let a lot of people down, but I haven’t broken promises. The only commitment I have forsaken was to the Jedi.” As always, when he speaks of the past, his eyes plead for her to understand. “I took that oath at age ten. I had no idea what I was signing up for. By the time I was an adult, I was trapped in a life of celibacy and service. I wanted some of it, but not all of it. And they didn’t trust me. I knew that there were things about the Force they weren’t telling me. They held me back on purpose . . . putting me on the Council but withholding the rank of Master . . . things like that.” Astral can tell that even decades later, those old slights still sting.

“Over time, I wanted out. But there was no procedure for that short of disgrace or joining the Separatists.” Lord Vader’s face is earnest as he complains, “I didn’t feel like I was wrong for breaking the Jedi Code I didn’t believe in. And I was no traitor. So neither option felt like the right way to exit. I tried to find a way to make it work by keeping some of my commitments and avoiding the conflict. But then, Asokha left . . . ”

Astral nods. She’s heard the story of the young Padawan who was framed by a Separatist faction of Jedi. In the end, the truth came out, but not until after considerable damage was done. The Jedi Council’s missteps with that young woman sowed the seeds of their demise at the hands of her aggrieved Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker, who had added yet another complaint to his growing list. 

Lord Vader’s face is bleak as he recalls those days. “When she left, at first I was disappointed. But over time, I was jealous. Asokha had the courage to find her own path. It was a good example. When the time came for me, I chose my own path too. Things ended . . . abruptly,” he chooses mild words for what Astral knows was a sweep of executions across the galaxy. He’s not proud of Order 66, she knows, but neither does he disavow it.

“With religion, there is very little room for compromise. Reforms are slow and incremental. I wanted to do something big and bold. And I needed to stoke my Dark power to save Padme . . . or so I thought . . . “ Lord Vader’s face is now hard with hate. Astral knows just how duped he feels by his bait-and-switch Master Lord Sidious.

“When you find Luke, you need to tell him all this,” Astral urges. She’s worried that when father and son meet it will end up a snippy shouting match of righteous testosterone, sort of like how Darth Vader and Darth Plagueis interacted. And that dynamic will impede understanding, not promote it. “Luke needs to hear your truth. My Lord, all he knows of you is what’s on the holonet and whatever lies the Jedi have told him. You will be the villain.”

This is her worry, for he’s not the villain. Not really. Lord Vader’s mistakes were all somewhat well intentioned. That matters, Astral firmly believes. Because bad people are people who want to do bad things. But Darth Vader is a good person who wants to do good things, even if they have turned out badly. And in his position, he doesn’t make all the decisions anyway. He is accountable to his Master who builds things like Death Stars. If there is a true villain in the Empire, it is Lord Sidious. But will Luke Skywalker be able to see that? Or will he believe the public accounts that have Emperor Palpatine the wiseman statesman and Darth Vader his cruel henchman? Astral has much trepidation about what will happen when the Skywalkers finally meet. More and more, she worries it could be a disaster.

Lord Vader is still in hot pursuit of his son. But to no avail. “I have to find him first,” Lord Vader complains glumly. “We lost his friends in the asteroid field. We chased them weeks but they got away.”

“What now?”

He sighs. “More bounty hunters and probe droids. I’m back where I started.”

“And Luke is with Master Yoda.”

Lord Vader grumbles, “He’s not my biggest fan.”

“I figured that. Tell you what—I’ll be your biggest fan,” Astral volunteers.

“I’m counting on that.” He hugs her closer to him. “Look, we’ve wandered a bit, but my point is that I take my promises seriously. The Sith might deceive and betray, but I don’t. What we promise today matters. This marriage matters to me.” His golden eyes are fervent with sincerity. When he speaks like this, Darth Vader is so compelling. The man beneath the mask has a strange charisma that few see, unfortunately.

Astral nods. “I know. Me too.”

Again now, he is vulnerable. Not the casually commanding man who sweeps down shuttle ramps and stalks through corridors of power. Darth Vader looks a little rueful now as he confesses, “I never thought I would do this again.”

“Me neither.” She had sworn off love years ago. Too disappointed by her first failed marriage and too discouraged by her dismal and sporadic dating experiences that followed. But here she is. Taking terrible risks to marry this man. And there’s more than just her personal happiness at stake this time—it’s her life, maybe his life, the future of the Empire, and the fate of the Force hanging in the balance. Astral ought to be petrified. But she’s not. She’s hopeful. 

“It’s both harder and easier the second time around.”

“This time, it will work. I’m going to do everything I can to make this work,” she promises.

“It will work,” he responds with conviction.

“I mean it,” Astral stresses her point. “Look, Leo may have cheated on me, but I could have been a better wife. In retrospect, I see that. I didn’t give him what he needed and so he went looking for it elsewhere. He needed more time and attention and I was busy with my career and my friends. I won’t make that mistake again, I promise. Even though we live apart, I will be there for you,” she vows. “Summon me and I will drop everything.”

“I know. Ready?”

“Ready.”

And now, as impromptu and informal as this intimate moment is, it feels very real. Even without witnesses, Astral is suddenly nervous. She feels butterflies in her stomach and her heart starts to pound. When Lord Vader reaches to grip both her hands, they tremble slightly. 

His touch is firm, but Lord Vader’s face betrays his own anxious excitement. This man might be the coolest head in the room and the calmest warrior on any battlefield, but this isn’t war or politics. This is personal. That makes it emotional, and where emotions are concerned, Lord Vader is anything but subdued. In this moment, even with the yellow eyes and the respirator, he looks very, very human.

Seeing his nervousness helps Astral. She smiles up at him encouragingly. They will get through this—and through the rest of their lives—together.

He begins solemnly, “Astral, I promise to be a faithful and honest husband. I promise to care for you and to honor you all the days of our lives until we return to the Force.”

It’s simple and sweetly said. It’s also concise and to the point. Just like Darth Vader. This is not a man given to flowery words or to long preamble. His boss is the one who gives the speeches.

Now, it’s her turn. “My Lord—“

“Anakin,” he corrects her gently.

Her eyes widen. “Are you sure?” He never uses his given name, treating it like a separate identity he has left behind.

But apparently not completely. He replies, “I’m sure.”

“Alright.” Astral begins anew. “Anakin.” She has spoken his real name so seldom that it feels foreign on her lips. So she says it again with more conviction. “Anakin, I promise to be a faithful and honest wife. I promise to care for you and to honor you all the days of our lives until we return to the Force.”

And that’s it. There’s no ‘in sickness and in health’ since they’ve already established that part from the earliest days they knew one another. There’s no ‘for richer and for poorer’ either, maybe because credits and luxury mean nothing to Lord Vader. He now swipes aside his respirator to seal the deal with a kiss. But even that is a bit truncated because the groom can’t breathe on his own.

“That’s it?” she asks. “We’re done?”

“Done,” he confirms after he has replaced his oxygen mask. “We are husband and wife, Lady Vader.” 

Astral exhales, “Good.” They just got married with her leaning on his lap in a TIE fighter. There is no music, there are no guests, there are no witnesses. There is no party afterwards and there will be no rings or gifts. Nothing is the way it normally is at a wedding, and that’s fine. It’s a non-conventional setting for a most unusual marriage between a completely improbable couple. But Astral thinks it’s perfect. Neither of them was looking for this outcome, but it found them all the same. They might be the one good thing to come out of the Death Star, Astral thinks, as she smiles at her new husband.

Lord Vader takes her on a joyride through the nebula. She rides strapped into the gunner seat behind him, marveling at the majestic natural beauty they tour. It’s fun and lighthearted. Completely different from their usual modus operandi of late night treason and sneaking around before onlookers. Astral loves it. She also loves seeing this casual and easy side of Lord Vader. He likes to fly, and he’s very good at it.

He insists that she learn to fly. Astral agrees so long as he will be her teacher. Truthfully, the request has nothing to do with his skill. It’s motivated by her desire to get Lord Vader back in the cockpit again regularly. This man needs more fun, Astral decides. He needs more diversion from the stress of ruling the galaxy and finding his son. Wifelike, she silently determines to make sure he gets more downtime. 

But in the end, duty calls. Astral only gets one flying lesson and they only get three stolen days together. Then, she’s back to her normal life on Coruscant. No one is the wiser that the few days’ vacation she took were for her wedding to the second most powerful man in the galaxy. Astral is as incognito as always, except for the discreet security man who tails her to and from her apartment.

It’s not a surprise to Astral that the earliest days of their new married life are spent apart. This will be the norm, she knows. But that all ends abruptly on a Monday morning two weeks later. Astral exits a meeting and learns that she has a visitor waiting for her.

It is Milo, Lord Sidious’ longtime servant come from the Palace. He is stern-faced and tense looking.

“Good morning,” he announces. It is a perfunctory greeting accompanied by a smile that never reaches his eyes.

“Hello,” Astral responds, wondering what is afoot. This man’s presence cannot bode well. She is instantly wary.

“My Lady,” Milo begins formally, drawing a questioning look from her curious boss who looks on, “there is an emergency. Your presence is requested immediately.”

“By whom?” Astral is cool.

“The Master.”

Oh. Astral digests this news. Apparently, she is summoned by the Emperor.

“Please come quickly,” Milo requests. “There is no time to waste.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I will give you the details in the speeder,” Milo answers. He’s giving nothing away.

Astral stares the older man down for a long moment before she relents. “Very well.” She will accede to the request so she doesn’t get escorted out in handcuffs by stormtroopers. Being arrested once was enough. She will retain her dignity this time.

Astral fetches her purse and follows Milo outside to a waiting speeder. It’s one of the Palace interorbital transports that is heavily armored with official license plates and opaque black windows. It draws many looks, she notices. Thankfully, she doesn’t spy any stormtroopers.

“Please climb in,” Milo requests as he opens the speeder door. “You too,” he orders to Astral’s security guard who has suddenly materialized to make his presence known. “In the front. Passenger side,” Milo instructs to the man curtly. “Let’s go.”

When they are inside with Milo at the controls, the security guy beside him, and Astral in the back, the speeder takes off fast. It begins weaving swiftly through the thick traffic.

“What’s going on?” her heretofore anonymous security guy demands. “I wasn’t notified of anything.”

Milo does not answer. He produces a small snub-nosed blaster that he fires at point blank range into the security guard’s chest. It kills him instantly before the man can react. His body slumps forward in a smoking, grisly scene.

Astral shrieks. “You killed him!” she accuses. She’s aghast. And suddenly very scared.

“Yes.” Milo is nonplussed. “We need no loose ends.”

Loose ends?? “Pull over!” Astral screeches. “Pull over. Now!” She’s worried that the next person to take a laser blast to the chest will be herself.

But Milo ignores her command. “Relax, my Lady. You are in no danger. Very likely, I am saving your life.”

“Pull over! Now!” Astral is very skeptical of this man. Lord Vader doesn’t trust him either, she knows.

“Vanee has a cruiser in orbit. He will take you from there.”

Vanee?? He’s involved too? “Where? Where am I going?” Astral hisses, wishing very much that she had some means to contact Lord Vader for help.

“I do not know your destination,” Milo replies calmly as he continues his piloting at breakneck speed. “It’s best that I do not know. That way Lord Sidious can’t take it from my mind.”

Astral’s own mind is racing as she recalls whose deeply embedded spy Milo really is. “So by ‘Master’ earlier, you meant—“

“The Master. The real Master. The forever Master.”

“Lord Plagueis,” she whispers.

Milo nods without looking back. “He values you highly. He wants you safe.”

Astral immediately understands the implications of Milo’s reveal. “He found him,” she breathes aloud. Lord Vader has finally found his son. That explains this immediate evacuation.

“Not yet, but he will soon,” Milo corrects. “One of the bounty hunters Lord Vader hired found the ship with young Skywalker’s Rebel friends. Skywalker will come for them once they are in pain.”

Astral gulps. “Oh.”

“It’s a classic trap. The boy will present himself to save his friends. Those Jedi types always do. Lord Vader used this tactic many times successfully during the Purge,” Milo assures her.

“Oh. So this is really happening . . . ” she says out loud.

“Yes. Lord Plagueis has a deal with the bounty hunters and the Master pays better than Lord Vader. It’s the head’s up we need to get you to safety.” Milo takes the speeder in a near vertical climb now up towards the Coruscant atmosphere. “For all we know, Lord Sidious already knows what’s happening. That’s why you need to flee.”

“Fine, but you didn't need to kill—“

“I did,” Milo overrides her. “When it comes to the power plays of the Sith, there is no mercy. It’s kill or be killed. That man might be the first to die for you, but he won’t be the last,” Milo informs her grimly. “That’s how this works.”

Astral is outraged. “I refuse—“

“My Lady,” impatient Milo cuts her off again, “these are the risks of your position. Be grateful for this chance. It’s more than your predecessor got. Now then,” he continues, “do not out me to Vanee. He thinks he’s taking you to meet Lord Vader for a honeymoon. Just play along.”


	26. chapter 26

“Lord Vader, ship approaching. X-wing class.”

“Good. Monitor Skywalker and allow him to land.”

Skywalker. Vader is free to say the name out loud now that Sheev is aware of the identity of the Rebel pilot who blew up his precious Death Star. Sheev even went so far as to make his kid’s name public. Darth Vader’s secret son is now at the top of the Imperial Most Wanted list and his picture is all over the holonet. Sheev being Sheev, he is turning up the heat on the situation. Amping up the already considerable dragnet that dogs his fugitive son. But soon, none of that will matter. Soon, very soon, Luke Skywalker will be caught and hidden away. Hopefully, his Master will be none the wiser.

Thanks to a tip from a well-paid bounty hunter and maybe a little intervention from the Force, the _Millennium Falcon_ has been found. The ship sought refuge at a small, somewhat shady Tibana gas mine colony. But Vader got there first. It turns out that the spice smuggler Han Solo, his wookiee co-pilot, and that Rebel princess Leia Organa were aboard the rundown freighter. Luke Skywalker will be presenting himself shortly as their rescuer. All Vader had to do was torture his friends a little. It was nothing messy or gratuitous. Just some routine unpleasantness designed to get Skywalker’s attention in the Force. Sure enough, as soon as his friends felt pain, the boy came running.

Is it mostly for the girl? Vader remembers the many pictures of his son with the girl at the Rebel base. Has the hero Luke come to save the princess yet again? If so, that attraction pleases Vader. His son might be a farm boy from Tatooine but he aims high, like his slave father who won Naboo's queen. It's too bad the girl’s a Rebel, Vader thinks. And so mouthy. But her appeal isn’t hard to understand, for Leia Organa certainly is a beauty. Even grim-faced now as she watches the wookiee go wild over his friend Captain Solo being put into carbon freeze.

It’s all according to plan. Vader intends to test the local freezing facilities on the pilot with lots of witnesses around to watch. If Solo lives, Vader will give him to Jabba the Hutt. That ought to earn the Empire some covert goodwill with the organized crime families. Those guys can be useful from time to time for off the record stuff.

The carbon freezing stunt is merely a ruse, of course. It’s how Vader will pretend to bring Luke to his Master. The risky move will provide a pretext to explain the boy’s accidental, untimely death. Then, Vader can hide away his kid without his Master knowing to look for him. Hopefully, the Force will not betray him in the process. Plagueis’ words about great power making itself known are a little troublesome. Vader worries that he might not be able to hide his boy for long. But what other option does he have right now? He sure as Hell isn’t giving Luke to Plagueis to conceal.

  
“Put him in!” Vader orders. He’s seen enough melodrama leading up to Captain Solo’s carbon freeze. He’s impatient and annoyed, especially when that trigger-happy bounty hunter wants to start shooting. Vader restrains him. Enough of this sideshow. Luke Skywalker is coming and that’s what really matters. Time to get this over with.

Still, the scene is illuminating. Luke and the princess are not together. His boy’s admiration would appear to be unrequited. For that annoying young woman has just declared her love for the smuggler. Frankly, it’s just another reason to dislike her. It’s also an enjoyably ironic moment. Who knew that Alderaan's prissy princess would fall for a two-bit spice runner with a Hutt bounty on his head? Her father would be so proud, Vader smirks to himself. If only sanctimonious Senator Bail Organa had lived to see it. 

Time to alter the bargain with that slippery local admin guy. Vader now reverses his order that the princess and the wookiee be left here on Bespin. That magnanimity was intended as a show of goodwill toward his son’s girlfriend. But since the princess is not Luke’s love, he will arrest her and ship her to Sheev. Vader won’t pass up a chance to suck up to his boss if there’s nothing to be gained by being merciful.

Are they done here? They’re done. Vader commands the carbon freeze machine to be reset and orders everyone out. Then, he lies in wait for Luke Skywalker.

The anticipation is killing him. Padme, are you watching in the Force? Vader is well aware that his late wife might be a Rebel in today’s current politics. By the end of the Clone Wars, Padme had been talking like a Separatist in private. She would never have approved of the Empire as the successor to the Republic. But still, Vader hopes she is cheering him on in this endeavor at least. For as much as Padme would condemn who he has become and what he has done, surely she would want him to save their son from Sheev. This isn’t about politics—he doesn’t much care that his kid is a Rebel—and it’s more than just the Force—the Jedi are extinct anyway. This is first and foremost about family. Today, at long last, he’s bringing his boy home.

And suddenly, here he is. Luke Skywalker is standing below him, blaster in hand. The boy clearly senses danger. He peers through the steamy mist of the carbon freeze chamber, while Vader deliberately suppresses his artificial respiration. It gives him a few seconds to observe the boy unaware.

The first thing he notices is his Force imprint. It’s simply enormous. It suggests a deep and intuitive connection to the wellspring of the universe. Vader is taken aback. He knew the boy would have potential, but not this much raw talent. Just being in Luke Skywalker’s presence is slightly intimidating. That’s a very unwelcome realization. 

  
It brings all of Vader’s insecurities about his own diminished Force abilities to the forefront. 

  
  
Well, whatever, he thinks as he stares out from behind the mask. His kid might one day be the next Yoda, but for now he’s just a beginner Padawan. Obi-Wan didn’t live long enough to teach him much and he hasn’t been training with Yoda more than a few weeks. That’s good. It leaves room for Vader to fill the role of mentor. Luke Skywalker needs a teacher and he’s still young enough to need a father’s guidance, too. Vader himself has no use for meddlesome old Darth Plagueis. But that’s not a blood relationship. This is. This boy is flesh of his own flesh, made of himself and Padme, a testament to youthful love now lost. In its place, Vader has maturity, experience, and perspective. He plans to share all that with his son. That way, Luke Skywalker won’t need to repeat his father’s mistakes on his own path to wisdom. 

Vader can’t stop staring. He has seen many pictures of his child, but in person Luke Skywalker looks nothing like he imagined. He’s shorter than he expected. Not super short, but far from tall. He has Padme’s compact build. Does his son have his wife's easy grace and quickness as well? Aside from his unremarkable physique, the rest of the kid is a younger him. The tousled longish hair, the tanned complexion, the blue eyes. And also, Vader suspects, some of Anakin Skywalker's misplaced idealism, ragged focus, and rash decisions as well. 

  
Oh Force, this is happening. This is really happening. Vader can barely contain his excitement and trepidation. How does he start? Not with the whole ‘I am your father’ lead up. Not yet. It’s too soon for that. But what now? Vader sticks to his plan to keep his cool. He won’t make the same tone-deaf mistake that Plagueis did by leading off with a diss. Instead, Vader decides to honor his upstart boy with some respect, even as he puts him firmly in his place. So he activates the lights in the chamber, breathes deeply on his respirator, and intones, “The Force is with you, young Skywalker, but you are not a Jedi yet.” 

It’s a good throw down opening line, but the boy does not respond with words. He holsters his pistol and slowly climbs the stairs to meet him. Luke Skywalker walks right up to danger. Behind the mask, Vader can’t help but grin at this youthful chutzpah. That’s his boy, all right. But what does young Luke know about his past? What does he know about his father? How does he feel about Darth Vader? The kid reveals nothing. He just lights his weapon in silence. 

Guess Yoda hasn’t yet taught him that whole ‘the Force is for defense, never for attack’ bullshit yet. Vader smirks harder now.

  
  
But for all his boy’s unspoken challenge, he looks like he’s facing his executioner. He’s near petrified. Honestly, Vader feels the same way but for completely different reasons. Because he’s not staring down his mortal enemy. He’s staring down his long-lost son . . . who thinks he’s his mortal enemy. No one’s going to die today, of course, but the stakes feel very high. Vader can feel the eddies and flows of the Force swirling around them both. It gives a subtle charge to the air that betrays the meaningful change to come. For today is destiny at work.

Should he light his sword to answer the challenge? Or should he start to talk? Vader decides to spar a little first. Let’s see what this aggressive cub can do. Sure, the kid can fly—Vader saw that in the Death Star dogfight. But can he fight? Time to test Luke a little. Plus, maybe letting this youngling vent his hostility physically will help things when they get down to actually talking. Vader decides to give the boy a little leeway to get his lust for patricide out of his system.   
  


So he activates his weapon and stands in a defensive position. He will let Luke be the aggressor. The kid hesitates a long moment, gathering his courage and his focus. Then, he lunges. Immediately, he’s on the attack. 

And just look at how he holds that sword. Like it’s a cudgel. At least he didn’t start with Obi-Wan’s signature Form 3 defensive stance. The boy’s saber training appears to be all from Master Yoda, who appreciated the role of a good offense. Vader himself has strayed from the rigid combat forms he learned as a youth. Once he got in the suit, he had to adapt his fighting style. It’s more about power and economy of motion these days, rather than athleticism. Less rapier and more broadsword. More force and more Force. It’s not quite Form 5 and not quite Form 7. He thinks of it as Form Vader.

It’s not pretty, but it is effective. By the second exchange of blows, Vader’s overpowering swing tosses the lightweight kid to the ground. That’s the first opportunity to kill Luke that he will forego today. Instead of issuing the coup de gras, Vader waits patiently for the kid to stand back up. Like this is a training match and not an actual duel.

And now, yet again, Luke Skywalker is on the offensive. Stepping forward as Vader falls back. The boy starts swinging to escalate the fight once more. The static crack and buzz of their clashing sabers fills the air. 

Vader’s adrenaline kicks in. Combat has always been a rush. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping for this outcome just a little. He just wants to feel the kid out some. To see what he can do. 

Young Luke isn’t half bad for a newbie. Sure, his footwork is awful and he needs more follow through on his swing. But his reflexes are terrific and his pacing is good. When he gets beyond the basics and into the intricate swings, Luke could be great. Plus, he just picked up a lightsaber a year ago. It’s not like he has been swinging one since age five like a traditional Jedi student. In fact, Luke’s training history is far more akin to the instruction of a Sith Apprentice than it is a Jedi Knight. He’s learning as an adult, not as an impressionable, unquestioning child.

All in all, Vader is pleased with what he sees. “You have learned much, young one,” he allows, doing his best Jedi Master impression. And, yeah, it comes out a little condescending. But hey—Luke is the underdog aggressor here.

But not to be outdone, his kid sasses back, “You’ll find I’m full of surprises.” It’s just the sort of sardonic trashtalk Anakin Skywalker would have mouthed at Grievous or Ventress. Hearing it come out of his kid’s mouth is a little bizarre . . . and annoying, to be honest. Vader has to bite his tongue from retorting that Luke is the one in for the big surprise today. 

Well, enough of that. Vader disarms Luke effortlessly and throws him tumbling back down the steps towards the carbon freezing pit. The boy is unarmed and forced to back up as Vader advances with a showy Force-assisted leap.

“Your destiny lies with me, young Skywalker. Obi-Wan knew this to be true.” 

Vader is trying to draw out information. To learn what lies his old Jedi Master told his boy. To know what Luke Skywalker knows about Darth Vader. 

But the kid doesn’t explain, he simply reacts. “No.” Luke Skywalker apparently is a man of few words.

Unarmed Luke keeps backing away, unaware that he’s about to fall into the carbon freeze pit. When he takes a tumble, Vader will freeze him. Then, he can remove the kid to a far less public location and thaw him out. Sure enough, with a little encouragement from his sword, Luke falls in. 

Vader turns to activate the freezing process with the Force. He can’t resist a little diss while he’s at it since Luke can’t hear him anymore. “All too easy. Perhaps you are not as strong as the Emperor thought.”

As Vader turns back to watch the steaming liquid metal pour into the chamber, he can’t help but be a little disappointed. That was too easy. But it’s for the best in the long run. For the less the boy knows, the less he will have to unlearn. His potential is astounding and that’s what really matters.

But noise from above has Vader suddenly look up. Sure enough, Luke has eluded the trap. He has used Yoda’s Form 4 acrobatics training to leap a good fifteen feet in the air to escape the freezing process. He now hangs from some tangled industrial hoses.

Atta-boy. Vader is grinning behind his mask. He himself had been similarly agile in his youth. Before the prosthetics weighed him down and made him clumsy. “Impressive . . . most impressive,” he commends. “Obi-Wan has taught you well.” Vader refuses to give credit to annoying Yoda for any of his boy’s accomplishments. “You have controlled your fear.” That might be more impressive than that Force-assisted leap, actually.

Vader hacks at a hose or two for good measure, but he lets the kid climb down without attacking. That’s twice now, he could have killed Luke. But who’s counting? He hopes Luke is. Is the kid getting this? He isn’t trying to kill him.

The kid gets his sword back, Vader takes one of those exhaust hoses he hacked to the face, and now the battle rejoins again in earnest. Damn, this is fun. It feels good to swing his sword against a real opponent, not droids. And just look at Luke’s expression. At all that earnest determination. This kid has all the commitment to his Rebel cause that Anakin Skywalker once had for the Republic. It’s hauntingly familiar. Padme would have adored Luke, Vader realizes. Not just because he’s her son, but because of who he is—the young hero.

And whoops! His mind is wandering. That riposte got way too close. It provokes an insidious, unwelcome thought to form in his mind: could his boy actually beat him? The moment it occurs, Vader banishes it from his consciousness. Because that’s utterly ridiculous.   
  


It’s time to feel the boy out in the Force. He’s got plenty of aggression, but can Luke use those aggressive feelings for power? Time to give the boy a little Dark Side training. Vader begins to goad him. “Now . . . release your anger. Only your hatred can destroy me.” 

It provokes more fast, furious swordplay. It’s all Form 4 classic moves executed well but in predicable sequence. The boy is parroting the patterns he knows, rather than improvising in the moment. It’s the mark of an inexperienced duelist, but that’s to be expected. With more lightsaber training emphasizing variety and speed, his kid could be great. It will be fun, Vader thinks as he swings. He’s glad he’s in relatively good shape these days so he can keep up with the boy. In time, he will teach him all he knows, Vader decides. 

But for now, he keeps falling back on purpose, letting the boy think he’s gaining ground. He will goad the kid to Darkness and stoke his aggression with actions as much as words. Time to give him a win. Vader pretends to be forced backwards off the carbon freezing platform. And is the boy going to take this opportunity to make a run for it? No, he doesn’t. Ever the aggressor, Luke starts hunting him.

Vader is really smirking now. This kid’s no Jedi. He’s got a streak of Darkness in him a sector wide. Sanctimonious old Yoda must have choked when Luke presented himself for training.

The duel becomes a game of hide and seek for a bit until Vader steps forward to reveal himself. Now that he knows the boy is adequate with his weapon, Vader decides to test him further. Time to up the degree of difficulty. Taking a page out of cranky old Dooku’s playbook, Vader starts tossing around heavy equipment with the Force. Can Luke handle this level of concentration? Can he do two things at once? Here’s a first lesson for the boy: not all contests are confined to swords. 

Luke is tiring fast and bloodied a little. He’s losing his focus. Is it time to disengage and begin talking? In all the times Vader has imagined this fateful meeting, he never envisioned it unfolding like this. Sure, he knew swords were a distinct possibility. Violence is kind of a given when a Jedi meets a Sith. But Vader always expected a lot more words to accompany this fight. So far, there’s only been a bit of snark. And that’s not the right lead up to the big ‘I am your father’ moment. Is Luke always this quiet?

Vader has stopped swinging now. He’s merely tossing things at Luke with the Force. The boy is responding all wrong. The defense to these sorts of tactics is to repel the objects with your mind, not to swing at them. But Luke is either intimidated by their size or he’s lost too much concentration. The kid is really flailing now. Time to wrap things up.

But whoops. Luke fails to deflect an incoming piece of equipment and it crashes through the window behind him. They are fighting deep in the industrial underbelly of Bespin’s Cloud City, near the main reactor core with its bottomless chasm down to the gas giant planet below. That means the shattering glass is sucked out into the chasm along with the equipment. Vader successfully braces himself against the immediate outflow of air as the pressure equalizes. But Luke Skywalker is unsuccessful. He loses his grip and flies out through the broken window as well.

Fuck! That wasn’t supposed to happen. Vader immediately starts to investigate. The kid’s alive, wherever he is. He’s close enough that Vader can feel him in the Force. It’s a bit like a homing beacon, actually. Vader simply follows his mental presence. After that close call, he has a new strategy: he will find the kid, end this fight conclusively, and reveal who he is. The time for swords is over. It’s time for words now. Time for truth.

Luke is on a metal outcropping that extends out into the large, central chasm. He’s heading back inside to safety when Vader surprises him with a mighty slash. The battle resumes and Vader starts driving him back. He isn’t pulling his punches any longer. He is relentless and the boy retreats, as planned. He’s easily herded right where Vader wants him—cornered and beaten. Soon, he’s got the boy down on his back. Luke is trembling as he inches away from the tip of the menacing red sword.

Luke flashes a look that is pure Padme. And angry Padme at that. For a split second, it’s like she’s back alive. Staring indignantly at him from behind their son’s eyes. It’s disconcerting. Vader is rattled now. Truly rattled. 

  
  
It makes his next words come out less than encouraging. “You are beaten. It is useless to resist. Don’t let yourself be destroyed as Obi-Wan did.”

But his kid isn’t beaten and he does resist. With a look of determination and two wild swipes, Luke is back in the action. With a little pride, Vader notes that it is just what his younger self would have done in that same situation. Again now, they are trading blows with lethal swords in close quarters with nowhere to go but down into the chasm below.

Somehow, half-trained Luke gets lucky and he lands a glancing slash. Searing hot pain shoots up Vader’s neck and right shoulder the instant Luke’s sword makes contact. Fuck! That hurts. Chagrined, he can’t stifle an involuntary groan of pain. Because that really hurts. That really, really hurts. His armor just saved his arm, but beneath it, Vader knows there is real damage.

Enough of this. Playtime is over. It’s past time to end this fight and get down to business. Before the unthinkable happens and his prodigy kid bests him and kills him. As it is, his sword arm is not feeling too good.  
  


So, Vader hacks an inconveniently placed antenna out of the way and goes in for a disarming pass. He’ll get that lightsaber out of his kid’s grasp and then they can have a discussion. That seems to be the only option because Luke Skywalker isn’t the type to surrender. The disarming pass is a technique that Vader has done hundreds—maybe thousands—of times before. He used it once already on Luke back in the carbon freezing chamber. Except this time, his injured sword arm isn’t as accurate as it usually is for the precision move. And so, when his red saber swipes Luke’s blue sword from his grip, it lands too low and takes the boy’s hand off at the wrist.

“Aaaaaahhhhh!” Luke cries out at the amputation.

Horrified Vader freezes with his saber held down. Behind the mask, he viscerally recoils from his mistake. He hadn’t meant to do that. FUCK! He really wishes he hadn’t done that. Things just got a lot more complicated.

The boy begins panting through the pain, tucking his wounded arm to his chest. It’s the natural reaction to the shock of the trauma. Watching him, Vader recalls exactly what that feels like. He was about Luke’s age when a Sith Lord took his own arm off.

The enormity of what he has done begins to sink in. Too late Vader sees that he never should have lit his sword. For he has played into his boy’s worst fears of him. His strategy of letting the kid lead their meeting, of allowing Luke a little violence to get it out of his system, has totally backfired. Fuck! He probably thinks that swipe at his hand is payback for Luke’s hit on his shoulder. It’s not. It was a mistake, but Vader can’t really admit that. Fuck! He’s supposed to be the grownup in the situation. To control the flow of events as his desperate, outclassed new Padawan Apprentice flails and struggles. Except the one flailing and struggling is him.

It’s humiliating.

The boy probably thinks he will be the latest on the Empire’s long list of Jedi martyrs in the Purge. So, Vader needs to let him know he has other plans. That this isn’t the usual execution. So, here goes. Looming over his wounded son as the breeze lifts his cape, Vader growls, “There is no escape. Don’t make me destroy you.” It’s a bluff, of course, because the point is that he doesn’t plan to kill him. All along, Vader hasn’t wanted to kill him. Is Luke getting this? He’s telling him to stand down. To underscore the point, Vader turns off his own sword. Time for the boy to capitulate. It’s not like Luke has any other option at this point.

And maybe the arm thing isn’t so bad, Vader reconsiders. At least, he’s got the kid’s attention. But is he even listening? Luke keeps falling back, inching farther out onto a swaying gantry. It’s putting him in a more and more precarious position. Vader stands his ground, keeping his boy cornered. He’s won the battle, he realizes miserably. Now, he needs to make sure he doesn’t lose the war when his kid slips and falls to his death.

Time to encourage the lad a bit. “You do not yet realize your importance.” Has Yoda told Luke about the Chosen One prophecy? Yet again, Vader wishes he knew what his son has been told about their family. “You have only begun to discover your power. Join me and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy.”

It’s an offer Luke can’t refuse. So, naturally, he does. “I’ll never join you!” And now again, Vader gets the glare that is pure outraged Padme. He’s taken aback by his dead wife’s expression on his son’s face. It’s like she’s haunting him for what he has done.

“If you only knew the power of the Dark Side,” Vader rumbles gamely. And now, he goes there: “Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father . . . ” It’s an educated guess. But it’s time to broach the topic. Vader desperately needs a gamechanger to redeem this situation. Maybe if the boy understands their relationship, he will feel more comfortable trusting him.

But Luke now shoots him a look full of hate. Full of Darkness. “He told me enough! He told me you killed him!”

Whaaat? Really? Really?? Vader wishes he could kill Obi-Wan all over again now. Because that’s a damn lie! But a good one. Because Luke won’t know whether he can trust the news Vader is about to deliver. Still, the issue is ripe now. There’s no avoiding it. Vader takes a deep, steadying breath and reveals, “No. I am your father.”

He holds his breath as he waits for Luke’s reaction. Suddenly, Vader has some sympathy for Darth Plagueis’ own clunky delivery of his patrimony. Because he’s terribly nervous for what comes next. 

“No . . . No . . . That’s not true. That’s impossible!”

Luke is in denial. Dark, Dark denial. Just like Vader himself had been in denial of the news from Darth Plagueis. Ah, fuck, his heart goes out to the boy. Because he’s been there—Vader has lived this awful moment himself not long ago. And now, despite all intentions to the contrary, Vader finds himself mouthing the irritating platitudes he himself once heard. “Search your feelings . . . you know it to be true.”

“No! No! Noooooo!” 

The kid is in pain, physically and emotionally. His intense reaction radiates out through the Force, telling Vader just how deeply wounded his boy is. And there was no way that this moment was going to be easy, but still . . . Vader feels the situation spiraling fast out of control. Maybe a true Sith would think his boy’s disillusioned agony a sure path to the Dark Side, but Vader doubts it. Having his kid reeling isn’t helping him think rationally about what he’s being offered.

How does he salvage this? How does he turn this around? Vader rallies to close the deal. “Luke, you can destroy the Emperor. He has foreseen it.” That might be a bit of a stretch, but it’s a good hunch. So, Vader goes with it. He throws in, “It is your destiny,” for good measure. He himself has always been a sucker for destiny.

His upraised fisted hand is now outstretched in the gesture of an offer. “Join me,” he urges, “and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son.”

He means this with utmost sincerity. He wants to unite with his son and together find a path out of the Darkness that has eclipsed the galaxy. To find a middle ground and hopefully land on something resembling balance. But even to his own ears, his pitch smacks of a Sith’s lust for power. Of the classic ‘kill and replace’ pattern of Dark Side ascendancy for generations since Lord Bane. Fuck! He keeps getting this wrong. Confirming the kid’s worst fears about him. Because that speech sounded like a conspiracy for a coup and not an offer of clemency and safety. Fuck! He keeps blowing this big time.

For his part, his bleeding, maimed son just stares back at him. Luke Skywalker’s unblinking expression is bleak. Like this is a nightmare he could never have imagined in his wildest dreams.

He sees the boy’s eyes flit downward as he clutches at the rickety gantry he hangs off. As bad as the big reveal has gone, at least Vader still has this leverage going for him. There is no escape. The kid has to agree. Now, if he will just surrender, they can get him to the medics. Levy’s on the _Executor _and he’s the best there is for prosthetics.

Trying to sound positive, Vader reoffers his hand. “Come with me. It is the only way.”

That’s not an exaggeration. This is the only way. Because the Rebellion will inevitably lose. Because Yoda and the Jedi were wrong decades ago and nothing has changed. Because Sheev will kill Luke without hesitation. Because Plagueis is a wildcard who will only use his boy for his own agenda. And because . . . well, because Vader will do more than train and groom Luke as a Padawan Apprentice . . . he will love him as well. He wants to say this—he probably needs to say this—but he cannot. The words stick in his throat as he stares at the stump of his son’s severed arm.

FUCK! He did that. He of all people knew not to do that.

He knows he needs to make this moment personal. Less about the Force and politics, and more about family. So Vader sucks up his misgivings and prepares to ask his boy to come home. For them to be a family. Like his dead mother would have wanted. And then maybe together they can find his sister.

He never gets the chance. Luke Skywalker simply—and very intentionally—lets go.

Vader is speechless as he watches his son fall into the enormous chasm.

He didn’t see that move coming. He himself has persevered against all odds time and again to survive. Darth Vader, the erstwhile Anakin Skywalker, quite simply refuses to die. But young Luke Skywalker apparently feels otherwise. The boy is falling too far, too fast for Vader to levitate him with the Force. There’s no saving him now. Vader drops his outstretched hand in confusion and defeat.

This is the ultimate rejection. His son would rather die than join him.

Vader has seen others kill themselves to escape capture. Usually, it is a way to avoid a painful interrogation that will implicate others. The prisoner is acting rationally in the situation since death their inevitable end. Suicide is a way to exert control over the situation and to contain the damage. But this isn't that scenario. Luke Skywalker had a way out. So why did he do this? Vader is aghast.

He has seen prisoners sacrifice their lives to allow others to escape. Obi-Wan did it on the Death Star. During the Purge, lots of Jedi did it, usually to allow their young Padawans to escape. But Luke Skywalker isn’t protecting anyone. His friends have already been captured. His sacrifice benefits no one. So why did he do this? Why? Why???

Vader finally finds his voice and cries out in vain. “NO!” There’s no one to hear him, so he gives full vent to his despair. “NOOOOOOOO!” But his howl of indignant frustration dissipates amid the whistling updrafts and downdrafts of the bowels of Cloud City. Like his son, the shout is lost.

And now, hidden behind the mask, Vader’s own expression is bleak. Like Luke Skywalker’s face earlier, his features betray his enormous sense of shock and disillusionment. The Force was supposed to be with him today. But yet again, it ignores the plight of its Chosen One. Dark met Light and instead of balance and accord, it was the usual conflict. This is what Vader wants to end. But he can’t do it. Even with his own son.

Yet again, he has failed. Failed himself, failed his family, failed the Force, failed the galaxy. Darth Vader is devastated. And Dark, oh so Dark, in the moment.


	27. chapter 27

Vanee looks very relieved to see Astral as she boards the cruiser over Coruscant. “Good, you’re safe.”

“Err . . . yes . . .” she answers, trying to keep Milo’s cover story about a wedding trip. “Ready for the honeymoon,” she improvises somewhat unconvincingly. For starters, she’s here without any luggage.

Vanee dispenses with that fiction immediately. “There’s no need for lies. I know why you’re here.”

“You do?” she squeaks.

He nods. Looking around to make sure no one is in earshot, he confirms, “Lord Vader has found his Rebel son.”

Astral’s eyes widen. “You do know . . .”

The longtime servant explains, “The Palace released the name of the Rebel pilot who blew up the Death Star this morning. It’s all over the holonet. With that name, it wasn’t hard to guess the relationship that merited such a galaxy-wide manhunt.” Vanee fixes her with a very serious look. “I also know how the Sith work. Lord Sidious will worry that father and son will team up against him. That makes you a logical hostage,” Vanee succinctly spells out the scenario that everyone is worried about.

“Y-Yes,” Astral answers weakly.

“Milo thinks I’m an idiot,” the senior servant sniffs, “but we all know he’s as slippery as they come. He’s always playing every side in every conflict. Lord Vader has long suspected that he is still Darth Plagueis’ man somehow.” Vanee’s eyes slant over to Astral as he brags, “Whereas I am Team Vader.”

“We are Team Vader,” she corrects him.

“Very good. Let’s go.” Vanee propels her towards a waiting shuttle. “There’s no time to waste. We’re heading for the _Executor_. It’s deep in the Rim at some flyover system called Bespin.”

“Is that wise?” she wonders aloud. “Isn’t the flagship the first place the Emperor will look for me?”

“Yes,” Vanee concedes, “but if we are to form a conspiracy, we’d best do it together in person. Communications are far too easily intercepted.”

He’s right. Plus, Astral wants to meet Luke Skywalker herself.

“This is high treason,” Vanee reminds her under his breath. “We either succeed at this, or we die. There will be no mercy for any of us if Lord Sidious catches us.”

“That’s what Milo said,” Astral recalls.

“He’s right.”

Even at the fastest safe pace the shuttle’s hyperdrive can manage, it’s an almost three-day flight from Coruscant to Bespin. To maintain secrecy, Vanee keeps the shuttle under complete communications blackout. He does not inform Lord Vader or his flagship staff of their imminent arrival. That means when the shuttle exits hyperspace to rendezvous with the Imperial super star destroyer, they receive a hasty welcome. Up walk two officers, one of whom Astral recognizes from her last visit to the _Executor_. It’s the Captain who stuck her in a jail cell. Unfortunately, once again, he seems to be the welcoming committee.

“Ah, Vanee. This is a surprise.” The Captain greets Lord Vader’s manservant even as his eyes rake over her questioningly. There’s no doubt she is recognized.

Vanee gives a perfunctory nod. “Maddux.” His clipped tone speaks volumes. Vanee is scrupulously polite as a rule, so his snippiness is noteworthy. He clearly doesn’t like this guy.

“Piett sends his regards. He would be here himself, but there is an active situation.”

“Understood.”

The Captain addresses Astral now. “I remember you. You’re the woman from Coruscant. Here to inform again?”

“No,” Vanee answers for her.

“Good. He’s busy with some Rebels at the moment.”

“She’s your honored guest and she’s ‘my Lady’ to you, Captain,” Vanee announces coolly. “She’s not an informant.”

Astral inserts herself, “It’s fine, Vanee.” She could care less what anyone calls her and there’s no need to advertise that she’s here. Astral gets right to the point. “Where is the Rebel pilot? Where is Luke Skywalker? Has he been captured?”

“You mean the Jedi?” the Captain asks.

“Yes,” Vanee and Astral answer in unison.

“He’s dead, we think.”

“Dead?” old Vanee chokes.

“D-Dead??” she gasps. “Oh Gods, no . . . “ Astral claps a hand to her gaping mouth. She worried that something disastrous like this might happen. Now, it seems, her worst fears have come to fruition.

“Death is too good for him. He’s a Rebel traitor,” the Captain declares staunchly as his colleague beside him nods agreement.

That attitude irritates Astral, but Vanee is the one to snap back, “He’s more than that. How do you know he’s dead?”

“Because Lord Vader just ordered a squad to search for the body. They probably won’t find one though. Chances are that Rebel fell all the way to the planet surface.”

Astral and Vanee now exchange horrified looks. “Oh, n-no . . .” she stammers as she feels her heart sink in her chest.

The Captain is not slow on the uptake. Seeing their reaction, he demands, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Astral responds with a question of her own. “Where is he? Where is Darth Vader?” She’s had enough of this self-important Captain.

“That’s his shuttle arriving.” The man gestures in the direction of a ship that has just crossed the airlock to land in a prime position in the busy hangar bay.

“He’ll need to report to the Emperor,” Vanee tells Astral. “This is news his Master will want to know.”

She takes the hint. “We’ll wait.” She knows as well as Vanee does that if Luke Skywalker is dead, then Darth Vader’s best move will be to declare victory and take credit. The Apprentice will pretend he was never anything but completely loyal all along to preserve his position.

But if that comes to pass, then today went terribly wrong. “Oh, how did this happen?” Astral frets aloud as again she and Vanee exchange more concerned glances. Impulsively, she reaches for the old man’s hand. Suddenly, she’s very afraid of what will happen next.

So is Vanee. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Lord Vader’s trusted steward tells her under his breath.

“Vanee, if he’s really dead—“

“—then this will get ugly,” the old man finishes. “But at least you won’t be in danger anymore.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” the Captain, who has followed this exchange, demands anew.

But they both ignore him as across the hangar bay the shuttle ramp deploys. Before it is even fully extended, a towering figure in black begins to disembark. Astral watches to assess with a wife’s familiar eye. Lord Vader’s dragging his leg again, she notices. It’s a sure sign he’s overtired. And wait, his cape is hanging askew. When her Sith Lord husband turns to bark orders at the men behind him, Astral sees the reason why.

“Oh, he’s hurt!” she yelps. “See the shoulder!” She turns to Vanee, “Where is Dr. Levy?”

“He’s onboard. Probably in the infirmary.”

“Get him! Get him now!” Astral hisses.

Vanee nods slowly, “Yes, I think that’s wise.”

“That’s his sword arm,” anxious Astral wails. How deep does that slash on his armor go? From this distance, she fears the worst. “Go, I’ll be fine,” she urges to Vanee.

He clearly shares her concern because he does not resist. But Vanee turns to the Captain and admonishes firmly, “Do not dare arrest her this time,” before he begins to depart.

The confused Captain cocks his head at Astral and complains, “Just who are you again?”

“Astral Sidhu.”

Vanee overhears this exchange, halts, and turns. “She’s Lady Vader, as in Missus Darth Vader. Do not arrest her. He won’t be in a forgiving mood today, I assure you.”

The Intelligence officer looks astounded by this very unexpected information. “Wait—you’re—you’re—”

Astral nods absently, “Yes.” Her attention is all for the fast retreating figure of Darth Vader who heads for an elevator. His purposeful stride suggests that the shoulder wound is minor. That’s a relief. Maybe it looks worse than it is because the armor bore the brunt of the blow.

“Why didn’t you say something?” the flustered Captain grumbles.

Astral shoots the man a look. “Why bother? You wouldn’t have believed me anyway,” she challenges, momentarily ignoring the fact that she wasn’t Lady Vader back when she spent half a day in an _Executor_ jail cell. “My identity is need-to-know, Captain. Please be discreet.”

The man and his colleague nod vigorously. Then, they rush to be accommodating. Apparently, Astral Sidhu gets no respect on the _Executor_, but Lady Vader does.

But even with her exalted Lady Vader status, Astral must wait her turn. She ends up cooling her heels for a few hours holed up in an office that Vanee commandeers. Lord Vader’s steward has no official authority here on his Master’s flagship. Still, all of the senior commanders know who he is. They fall all over themselves to please him. Everyone, it seems, wants to get on Lord Vader’s good side by cozying up to his longtime personal steward.

It is through brief interactions with those officers that the bare facts of the Bespin trap come out. To her great relief, Astral learns that Luke Skywalker lives. The Rebel Jedi pilot got away in a desperate, daring fashion. Lord Vader wounded him first, cutting off his right arm, but the fugitive escaped anyway with help from his friends. The fool actually threw himself into a chasm at the bottom of the city. I guess he refused to be taken alive, some guy named Admiral Piett tells Astral with an indifferent shrug. The Rebel probably knew we would beat all the information out of him we could before his execution, the Admiral observes. Guess he preferred to die quickly to avoid betraying his fellow terrorists. But he got lucky and lived.

Astral nods along like she concurs. But inside, she is quaking as she pieces together the sketchy facts of what clearly was a violent confrontation.

Piett and the rest of Lord Vader’s officers might know Luke Skywalker’s name, but they don’t know the Rebel pilots’ relationship to their boss. The subtext of this mission is completely lost on them. They think Lord Vader is irate because he lost the opportunity to capture a high-profile traitor to present to the Emperor. No one would ever guess that this was a long-awaited meeting between an estranged father and son from opposite sides of a war and clashing sides of the Force.

Reading between the lines of the offhand reports Astral and Vanee hear, it is clear that Lord Vader is very upset. He gathers a group of local law enforcement personnel who were ordered to deactivate the hyperdrive on the ship the Rebels used to escape. Lord Vader executes them summarily in a fit of frustration. Not with the Force, they learn, but with his sword. Some Major who drops by to suck up to Vanee divulges the gory details with unbecoming relish.

Dr. Levy comes by as well to complain that Lord Vader has refused treatment. The doctor sighs and reports that he never even got close enough to look at the injury. Exasperated Dr. Levy produces a large bacta patch, a can of wound cleaning disinfectant spray, and some pain reliever. Here, he pushes the medical supplies across the table to Astral, see if you can help him when you see him.

Astral finally gets her chance to see her husband once the giant ship moves out of orbit and into position to send a clear transmission to the Emperor. Lord Vader reports to his Master and then withdraws to his quarters. The whole ship seems to heave a sigh of relief. Astral, however, is full of trepidation and anticipation. She’s relieved that Luke Skywalker lived, but dismayed by the circumstances. Most of all, she is very, very worried for Darth Vader.

“Go to him,” Vanee urges.

She needs no further encouragement. Astral gathers up the medical supplies and heads to Lord Vader’s quarters. They’re impossible to miss—they’re the senior officer quarters with the red robed Imperial guards flanking the doors. The guards refuse her entry, of course, but Astral stands her ground. She remains on the threshold, waiting.

He knows she’s here. He senses her presence in the Force. Sure enough, the doors slide open in silent invitation. Astral walks in and the small white medical pod across the room opens to admit her.

Astral climbs inside. The pod closes immediately to conserve the interior oxygen concentration. For Lord Vader is inside with his helmet off and no respirator. He’s seated at his cluttered desk stripped bare to the waist with his cape, gloves, armor, tunic, and chestplate in a haphazard pile on the floor. As Astral ducks inside, he looks up from poking at his injured upper arm to meet her eyes.

Lord Vader says nothing as he holds her gaze steadily.

Then, he goes back to assessing the long bloody gash high on his right arm. It begins just above the collar for his prosthetic and continues up his shoulder towards his neck. Just looking at the ugly wound makes her wince. Astral’s innate squeamishness kicks in, but she forces herself to look.

“How bad is it?” she asks, moving closer.

“It’s nothing.”

“Shall I get the doctor?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“Gimme that.” Lord Vader grabs the wound spray she holds and starts to apply it. It causes the injury to temporarily foam white as the antiseptic activates.

“That’s a deep cut,” she observes as she watches.

“It’s a burn, not a cut.”

“Was it a laser blast?” she asks.

“It was a lightsaber.”

“Oh.” Of course. From Luke Skywalker, no doubt. This must be a wound from Anakin Skywalker’s old sword.

“Hand me the patch.”

“I’ll do it,” Astral answers, as she tears open the rectangular sterile package. “I have a better angle. Now, hold still.”

“Fine,” Lord Vader grumbles, submitting to her efforts.

She presses on the large bandage and smooths it gingerly. “We should probably put another patch up here towards your neck. This one won’t cover that part. Does it hurt badly?” she frets.

“It’s nothing.”

“Dr. Levy sent some pain pills.” She offers them, but he refuses. Astral’s not surprised.

Lord Vader now turns away. He’s shutting her out. Astral accepts the rebuff gracefully. She has never pressured him for confidences, and she won’t start now.

Astral busies herself by plucking items from the floor. Right glove, left glove. Cape. She holds the garment up and looks it over, noting the burn mark that mars it. “This doesn’t look repairable,” she remarks. “I’ll get another. You’ll need another shirt too.”

Astral heads around the corner for the small closet near the bathroom. When she returns a moment later, she finds Lord Vader slumped, elbows on his knees, scarred face in his metal hands.

She freezes.

His shoulders are shaking.

He’s crying.

“My Lord . . .” she whispers. Casting aside the clothes, she hurries towards him. He lifts his head from his hands and the expression she sees scares her. It’s pain . . . so much pain . . . written all across his features. All this from the ‘no whining, no crying, no pity’ Darth Vader.

Standing above him, Astral reaches to clasp him tightly to her. She says nothing—she merely holds him--as she lets him vent his emotions. Tonight, she will be his safe space. His audience who does not judge, who just listens and accepts. Astral refuses to pile on to his already vehement distress. No one ever accomplished anything by saying ‘I told you so.’ And you don’t kick your man while he’s down.

Her job is to be strong now that he is made weak. She will be calm while he is distraught. Here in private with her, finally he can allow himself to feel the intense emotion that he has kept bottled up for hours behind that mask. It boils over now in a rush of feelings. It is cringeworthy, disorganized, and utterly raw.

“He hates me . . . he should hate me . . . I would hate me too . . . I don’t know how to be a father . . . I never had a father . . . ”

As the story pours out in fits and starts, between gasped words and curses, the theme is consistent: Lord Vader is terribly disappointed and frustrated with himself. She aches to see him like this. But truthfully, Astral shares the sentiment. He was supposed to show his son his true nature, but instead he showed him who was the boss. Lord Vader’s hurt shoulder turns out to be a superficial wound. Today’s true battle injury is to his heart and it is mostly self-inflicted. There is just so much guilt crushing him. It’s guilt over his dead wife, guilt over his missing daughter, and guilt over the abandoned son he met once and maimed forever. Today feels like the culmination of years of regrets and it’s way too much to handle.

“I never should have fought him. I should have told him the truth straightaway . . . but I was afraid . . . ”

Astral holds him close, stroking his back as he sobs out self-recrimination into her chest. Anyone who thinks this man is a cold, unfeeling brute doesn’t know the real Darth Vader. Astral has watched him endure in stoic silence physical agony that would bring an ordinary person to their knees in screaming hysterics. But when it comes to the people and ideas that matter, Darth Vader is anything but reserved or callous. This man cares even if he can’t or won’t show it.

Still Anakin Skywalker is there beneath the mask and the armor, though he rarely surfaces. She didn’t know it then, but Astral saw him first when she watched Lord Vader confront his Master about Alderaan. Later, she saw his dead wife’s belongings he kept in vain hopes of her resurrection. Astral also remembers vividly Lord Vader’s reaction when he confronted the ghostly painting of his former self. More recently, she has watched her Sith Lord slowly come to terms with the sudden emergence of his adult son, all along seeking to find the boy to help him even at his own peril. Those are not the actions of a man without a conscience. They are not the aims of a man who seeks only death, destruction, Darkness, and power.

She’s not blind to his faults. Darth Vader is many things, and not all of them are good. But many of them are. Unfortunately, that might be the best kept secret of the Empire. For only a select few see the conflict inherent in his psyche. He hides it well. Too well today, apparently.

“I hurt him . . . I didn’t mean to hurt him . . . I wish I hadn’t hurt him . . . If Padme were alive now, she’d take a sword to me herself . . . ”

Oh dear, Astral sighs inwardly. It’s clear that the duel on Bespin is the latest entry on Lord Vader’s long list of regrets. What makes it especially hard is that he showed up wanting to do the right thing. But sometimes good intentions go awry or they simply aren’t enough. Astral wonders what Luke Skywalker said or did that provoked such a violent response from his father. Because she knows this was never how Lord Vader wanted things to progress. Luke must have hurt his father for Lord Vader to hurt back. Was it because the kid landed a blow? Or was it words that inflicted the wound? Even listening to Lord Vader’s own account, Astral still wonders--how the Hell did it come to this? How did this happen??

She knows how this happened. It happened because her husband has zero emotional intelligence. Darth Vader doesn’t need it. He issues commands, so he never needs to persuade. He plots, stalks, and entraps rather than negotiates. He tends to overpower until his foe capitulates. But those tactics didn’t work with Luke Skywalker. Astral, who has spent her career dealing with high-strung artist types and entitled, rich museum benefactors, thinks she is probably better positioned to broker a truce with the Rebel hero than his father is. Her husband simply lacks tact. And, she suspects, Luke Skywalker took all his father’s gruff posturing at face value. And why wouldn’t he? He’s his enemy.

“He would rather leap to his death than join me. Padme wanted to change me . . . she would absolutely have left me . . . but she never would have risked killing herself just to get away from me . . .”

Lord Vader’s choked voice trails off into incoherence now. And that’s fine. It’s more important that he let this pain out than that Astral hears every word. She knows enough to understand what happened. Lord Vader was his usual acerbic self, betraying none of his real intentions and showing none of the emotion that humanizes the man in the mask. He likely met or exceeded every one of Luke Skywalker’s expectations, and all of them were bad.

This is the result. Astral suspects that for years her husband has suffered from deep depression marked by intermittent fits of despair and frustration. She knows he usually vents those episodes with violence, reinforcing his fearsome public persona. But tonight, his go-to vice is tears . . . and sex. For as the tide of outpouring emotion crests and falls, in its wake Lord Vader is needy in a different way. The metal arms that cling to her now begin to roam. It’s more possessive than sensual as his words underscore.

“Don’t you turn against me.”

“I’m here,” she whispers back.

He lifts his head at her words. Then stands to his feet. His face is tear streaked as he looks down on her. His eyes look strange, less yellow than green.

“I’m here,” she reassures him again.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he rasps.

She hears the obsessive, fearful paranoia underlying his words loud and clear. For this is a man who little by little left his former life behind, along with everyone in it. First, his mother. Years later, his Jedi Master and mentor. Finally, his wife. He went down a path she and others could not follow. He ended up alone as a result. A man broken in body and wounded in spirit, who nonetheless refused to die.

“Don’t ever leave me.”

It’s a command mixed with a whine and now a kiss as his lips come down on hers. His mouth is rough and urgent. His hands clamp down on her arms as if to physically restrain her. Like he fears she might break free and literally flee from him now. But Astral isn’t going anywhere. She knows the man she married. She understands the commitment she signed up for. This is the ‘for better or worse’ part of marriage. You don’t run when things get rough for your spouse. That’s your cue to dig in and hunker down.

“I’m here,” she whispers against his lips. “I won’t leave you.”

Is he convinced? No, he’s not. He’s needy for reassurance. Insecure about their still very new union. Raw from his bruised ego and dashed hopes. And he’s trying to balm over it all with pleasure. The man has few physical comforts. Sex is at the top of that short list. So, Astral plays along. She’s not really in the mood, but she will give him what he needs to feel better. To feel wanted after today’s stark rejection.

His hands are in her hair, his mouth is on her throat. This isn’t stopping at a kiss and an embrace, Astral realizes. She’s not the enemy, she’s an ally. But his sudden urgent lust seems to have an edge of belligerence to it. It’s misplaced anger at himself and at his son directed at her. And underlying it all is a sense of desperation, too.

Will this numb his pain for a bit? She hopes so. His hands are hiking up her skirt now. Things are moving fast past foreplay.

“Your shoulder,” she protests.

“It’s fine.”

It’s not fine, but Lord Vader has an inhumane pain tolerance. And the pain that’s bothering him now isn’t physical anyway. In another minute, he’s got her on her back on the bed, legs spread as he starts to slake his lust. Lord Vader is usually slow and conscientious in the bedroom, but tonight he is aggressive. He isn’t making love to her, he’s fucking her. With hard, emphatic thrusts that drag her along beneath him. He’s usually so careful with his sharp, cybernetic limbs. Cognizant too that she’s an average sized woman and he’s a towering, muscled man made extra heavy by his steel prosthetics. But tonight, all his usual gallantry is gone. It’s all about him. Astral indulges it without complaint. She knows he’s trying to use sex to forget--for however briefly--his pervasive sense of failure.

He did something like this once before at his Coruscant palace after his Master threatened her life and called him a droid. He had been upset then, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as this. This is soul-crushing disappointment mixed with frustration, regret, powerlessness, and hurt. He’s angry, so very angry, with himself more than Luke Skywalker. And though they are in bed together in the most intimate of acts, Astral might as well be a bystander. For this is much more about Lord Vader’s Dark demons than it is about their personal connection. He’s using her right now, and she knows it.

The heaving and grunting physicality of sex ends far too soon. Lord Vader gets his momentary oblivion, even if Astral does not. He collapses heavily on her body and seems to finally remember that she’s there. “Did I hurt you?” he rasps.

“No. I’m fine.”

“I never want to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. Please don’t leave me if I hurt you,” he yelps. This is his constant fear spoken aloud, Astral knows. That he will be alone, that he will be rejected, that he will find love and lose it like he did once before.

It’s her cue to stoke his bruised ego and to reassure. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Please don’t leave me—”

“Anakin—”

At the sound of his forbidden name, he lifts his head from her shoulder. His eyes are still that strange murky green and not the yellow she’s used to. She knows his feral eyes are from the Force and so seeing them change has her worried. So, Astral gathers her courage and tells him what she knows he needs to hear. It’s probably the only thing that can make this moment better for both of them. “Anakin, I love you.”

He blinks at her as he nods. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” She pulls him close and whispers it a third time. “I love and I won’t leave you.”

His face is buried in her hair as he chokes out, “I love you, too.” And then, he confesses an awkward truth for both of them. But this is the kind of night when feelings are exposed, no matter how uncomfortable. And so, he adds, “I think I might love you more than I loved Padme.”

He is sincere, but Astral doesn’t believe it. Since that first kiss she and Lord Vader shared in his castle, they have been in a love triangle with his dead wife. Astral knows she only wins by default, basically because she’s alive. Despite Lord Vader’s sweet confession, deep down there will never be another woman who can compete with the memory of his exalted Senator-Queen wife. Padme Amidala was his first crush and his first love. She became a decades long obsession and she’s still on a high pedestal in a class by herself. But Astral appreciates his attempt at honesty. For a deceitful Sith, Lord Vader can be astounding blunt and forthright at times.

Her exhausted, stressed out husband now promptly falls asleep. It’s for the best, Astral decides. Perhaps things will feel more manageable and hopeful when he wakes. And then, they can talk through things with less ragged emotion. She herself is far too keyed up to sleep. It’s as if all the emotional drama of the day that she experienced secondhand has now been foisted onto her. She lies awake next to her Sith Lord husband trying to figure out what to do next. But her mind keeps coming back to ‘I love you’ and what it means for them both. To love and be loved by this fearsome man is a step further than just being his wife. She’s all in now. His danger is her danger, his hurts are her hurts, his ambitions are her ambitions, and his failures are her failures. But most importantly, his happiness is her happiness. It works vice versa, too. Except nothing Astral will ever do in the Coruscant art world will have the consequences that Lord Vader’s decisions do.

Do the times make the man? Or do men make the times? She wonders. It can be hard to tell with these overpowered Force-using overlords who jockey for position at the apex of the galaxy. But knowing Darth Vader as she does, Astral thinks he was far more made than he was born. Maybe that’s how we all are, Astral muses. We evolve into a set of perspectives based on our individual experiences. It’s why we mature into ourselves with time. It’s why to truly know someone, you need to know how they became who they are. It’s also why society will never be blind to differences in sex, age, species, class, or culture. Moreover, maybe it shouldn’t be. Because to deny those differences is to deny the myriad richness of our collective existence.

But in this instance, those differing experiences led to conflict. The young Rebel Jedi Luke Skywalker met the middle-aged Imperial Sith warlord Darth Vader. Sparks flew, swords ignited, and wounds resulted. Is there any salvaging the situation? Or is this heading fast for a tragic resolution? 

Astral takes a long look at her sleeping husband with his bandaged shoulder and decides she will take some responsibility for the situation herself. Just because Darth Vader cannot get through to Luke Skywalker does not mean all is lost. She’s part of this family now too. Astral decides that she has a few choice words that her stepson needs to hear. 

The one saving grace of the debacle on Bespin becomes Lord Sidious’ reaction. The Emperor is fully convinced of his Apprentice’s commitment to turn Luke Skywalker to the Dark Side. The duel ending with both men wounded apparently displayed sufficient bona fides from each party. Ironically, Lord Vader’s ill-fated attempt to plot a treasonous coup gets him back in his Master’s good graces. Moreover, the animosity between father and son also means there is no special threat to Astral’s safety. Lord Sidious does not feel the need to get extra leverage over his Apprentice by threatening her.

Sheev suspects nothing, Darth Vader tells her. When he heard that I hurt Luke and he took that leap, Sheev cackled. Said he wished he could have been there himself. He’s not worried that we will join forces now. In fact, the Emperor feels so confident that he finally tells Lord Vader about his new Death Star that’s in the works. 

Luke and Lord Vader joining forces is, of course, the long-term plan. If not to kill the Emperor, then at least to balance the Force. Astral will do her part. So days later when Lord Vader is back at his Coruscant palace in long meetings to discuss the second Death Star project, Astral lingers on her apartment terrace hoping for a visitor. 

She is not disappointed.

“Prince!”

“Now, now, we are family now,” the Force specter of Darth Plagueis beams at her. “Let us have no more formality between us. Call me by my name—by my nickname—Snoke.”

“Lord Snoke—“

“Just Snoke.”

“Yes, of course.” Astral wrings her hands and tries to choose her words carefully with maximum tact. “Things with Luke Skywalker went—“

“Horribly. Yes, I know.” The old Sith’s ruined face twists into an even uglier grimace. “Lord Vader’s failure is most regrettable.”

His tone is scathing, but it’s water under the bridge as far as Astral is concerned. She has no wish to run down her husband. She’d rather focus on fixing the problem. “Can you get me to Tatooine? Luke will be there soon.”

“How do you know?” The exiled Dark Master looks intrigued. 

“Lord Vader turned Luke’s friend over to Jabba the Hutt. He’s frozen in carbonite.”

“Carbonite?” Darth Plagueis chuckles darkly, giving Astral a glimpse of the legendary Sith Lord who for decades bribed the Senate and plotted the downfall of the Republic. “That was creative,” he remarks. “Vader might be a grump but he certainly has flair.” And actually, Darth Plagueis sounds as if he wished he had thought of that carbonite stunt first.

“Luke came to save his friend on Bespin. He’ll come again to rescue him from the Hutt gang, I’m sure of it. Once his hand heals, he’ll go to Tatooine.” 

Lord Plagueis considers and agrees with Astral. “Yes, he will, won’t he?”

“I want to talk to him. I need to talk to him,” Astral asserts. “Luke doesn’t understand who his father really is. He only knows the holonet version of Darth Vader.”

“Do you think you can get through to him?” Her father-in-law in the Force gives her a frank look of doubt. Then he warns, “Astral, approaching that boy has risk. Especially now.”

“I know. But I have to try. Otherwise, those two might kill each other the next time they meet.” Astral has no idea what the future holds, except she’s certain that there will be a next time for Lord Vader and his son. That duel on Bespin was only round one.

“Hmmmm . . . yes. Things are bleak currently. We need something to change up the dynamic.” Her visitor now posits thoughtfully, “Perhaps I should meet with the boy.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“With respect, my Lord—“

“Snoke.”

“Snoke. With respect, Snoke, that boy doesn’t need to meet another Dark Lord.” One scary dude with the Force claiming to be his kin is enough already. “I can approach Luke in a way that is non-threatening.”

“You are Lady Vader,” her Force projected guest points out. “You are hardly without influence.”

“Yes, but I don’t swing a sword, I’m not officially part of the Empire, and I don’t have the Force.” All she has are words . . . and love for her husband.

“There’s nothing to stop young Skywalker from taking you hostage. From using you against his father just like Sheev would.”

“Luke won’t do that.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He’s a Jedi, isn’t he?”

“So was Lord Vader,” Darth Plagueis reminds her. “Darkness is in that boy’s nature as much as the Light. He is the son of the Chosen One.”

“Maybe so, but I will risk it.” Sometimes you have to show trust to get trust, Astral figures. And the tactic of approaching Luke Skywalker from a position of strategic strength backfired terribly on Bespin. So, she will go without weapons and bodyguards. She will go as herself. As an ambassador of the very broken Skywalker family.

“Your Lord won’t like this,” Darth Plagueis observes.

That’s putting it mildly, they both know. But Astral is determined. She lifts her chin. “I’m his wife, not his officer. I don’t take orders.”

The old Sith patriarch is unimpressed by her show of moxy. “You know he won’t like this.”

She nods, but persists. “He’s the reason I’m doing it.”

“Very well, I will get you to Tatooine,” her visitor ultimately agrees. “Go plead your husband’s case. But don’t tell young Skywalker about me. The boy has enough to digest for now. Don’t stir the pot just yet. Keep me in reserve to swoop in as the white knight. Sheev will want to play that role, so I may need to beat him to it.”

“I understand. Thank you.” Astral doesn’t bother to hide her great relief. 

“What is your strategy? What will you tell him?”

“That there is still good in his father. That the Emperor hasn’t driven it fully away.” 

Darth Plagueis scoffs at her words. “Of course, there’s still Light in him. Conflict is the hallmark of the man.”

Astral nods. “You see that. I see that. But I don’t think Luke Skywalker sees that.” 

And that is her strategy in a nutshell. Luke Skywalker is a hero, right? Astral will convince him to be the hero by saving his father. To see the Light in Darth Vader that they have in common. Sure, her husband wants to rescue his son from Sheev, but it might end up the other way around. Or maybe, they can meet in the middle. Either way, if it works, the Skywalkers will be on the same side. That’s all that matters, Astral has decided. Plus, if Lord Vader gets his way, the labels Jedi and Sith will have no meaning when Dark and Light ally. Her beleaguered husband will finally fulfill his destiny and bring balance to the Force. Maybe that will be enough to usurp Darth Sidious. And then, all the hardship and loss—both for the Skywalker family, for Alderaan, and for the galaxy at large—will be worth it.

END OF PART TWO

More to come . . .


	28. chapter 28 story notes to part two

Thanks for reading. I don’t have a lot to say about Part 2, but here it is:

I am still trying to make sense of what The Rise of Skywalker (and frankly, all of the sequel trilogy) did to the original trilogy. I honestly hate Episode 9. I won’t make these notes a movie review, but the voice of Anakin telling Rey ‘to bring balance to the Force like I did’ doesn’t work for me. No one brought any balance to the Force after ROTJ. Sure, Vader and the Emperor were dead, the Rebellion and the Jedi prevailed, and the Light was back on the galactic scene again. But that’s not balance. That’s the Light winning. And just like when the Dark Side wins, it doesn’t connote balance. It’s just a temporary status quo until the other side of the Force recovers to assert itself once again. You know . . . because the Light rises and Darkness meets it. Therein lies the vicious cycle of revolution that has typified the Star Wars narrative throughout all eras.

Bringing back Darth Sidious was a cheap and easy way to create a new big baddie everyone can hate. Not my preferred plot device, but okay. It was how they handled the reemergence of Sidious that bothered me. I would much rather have seen the First Order ally with the Resistance to fight Sidious. Have the Dark Side and the Light Side find an uneasy truce to together save the galaxy. Now, that’s balance. And, frankly, that’s where I assumed Episode 9 was heading. Rey and Kylo would use their Force bond to broker an alliance. Each would come to see the merits of the other as an ally. There would be some mutual respect fostered amid all the mistrust. That is a story for our times. A story of people with widely divergent viewpoints and values meeting in the middle, of people bridging over mistakes and crimes to extend forgiveness, of the ability to step outside your own experience and see life from your enemy’s vantage point and realize that their version of the truth might have some validity. That is moral courage in the 21st century. There is no moral courage in standing safely ensconced in your own arena righteously condemning everyone on the other side. In fact, that’s probably more counterproductive in the end.

I guess I wanted the sequel trilogy to advance the narrative past the ‘Dark versus Light’ story of the original trilogy. I wanted the failure of Luke and Leia’s attempt to bring back the Jedi and the Old Republic to be revealed as inherently flawed because it ultimately provoked Snoke and the First Order. And then, finally, the galaxy would see that there is a role for both sides of the Force and both political perspectives going forward. Everyone would realize that they need to find a way to coexist.

But Disney wanted a morally pure tale with a self-sacrificing bad guy redeemed to die and their shiny, pretty heroine triumphant like we knew she always would be. It was trite, predictable, and far less effective and hopeful than the first version of that tale from ROTJ. I found the victory pretty joyless because Rey ends up alone with no mentor and just a bunch of books. She’s the Star Wars version of a Disney princess only she doesn’t get her prince. Now Rey is stuck in the Luke Skywalker role tasked with rebuilding the Jedi Order from scratch and look how well that turned out last time. And is Lord Sidious even dead? Sure, we saw his face melt and he exploded. But he fell down a reactor shaft last time before Death Star II exploded and he survived that. So how are we sure he’s really gone this time? And don’t get me started on poor Kylo Ren. He didn’t even get to explain his change of heart. It was a poor dramatic decision. The melodrama of Star Wars is always whether someone will switch sides from Light to Dark (or vice versa). When that happens, major change always occurs. So when Kylo flips good, he should have had a moment to give his big speech of enlightenment. He also should have been given a chance to help kill Sidious. But no, Rey doesn’t need any help. She can do it all herself. I guess that’s another girl power thing, but geez . . . let the hero be the hero once in a while, alright? And what better hero to help our heroine than a guy who was once Dark Side himself? Anyhow, Episode 9 is a convoluted mess. I’m still trying to figure out how to deal with it for this story.

Anyhow, back to _Twilight of the Gods_. For the duel chapter, I watched the Bespin fight a few times and tried to observe it closely. Cloud City has long been my favorite Star Wars fight for the gorgeous set and the big reveal at the end. I’ve seen it a lot, but still . . . watching it from Vader’s perspective was eye opening. I was struck by how deeply thought out the duel is. By how suspenseful it feels. By how well acted it is. Well done, George Lucas et al!

Star Wars is always told from the perspective of the good guys, and the Bespin duel is no different. That’s why the camera focuses on Luke losing his hand and not on Vader’s reaction. That’s why the act feels very intentional—we simply assume the bad guy wants to do harm. What we see in the film is intended to have us view Luke as the untrained, underdog fighting a Sith Lord who is toying with him. We’re rooting for Luke, naturally. We are shocked when he’s shocked, hurt when he’s hurt, worried when he is in peril.

There is a tendency to assume that Vader is in control all of the time—he’s not. And that assumption of control leads you to assume that Vader knows what’s going to happen next—he doesn’t. Watching the duel from Vader’s perspective showed me how aggressive Luke was time and again. Also, how much forbearance Vader shows. There is no doubt that Vader had multiple opportunities to kill or at least really hurt Luke. But he doesn’t. Not until the end, at least.

I wanted to make the amputation a surprise to both men. It’s a mistake. I like having my bad guys make mistakes. They are neither omnipotent nor all-powerful. They are just as fallible as the rest of us, even if they don’t show it. I also like to explore Vader’s insecurities. Sure, the man doesn’t lack for confidence, but that does not mean he is confident in every situation, all of the time. No one is. Not even Sith Lords.

In this case, the mask that protects and sustains Vader is a double-edged sword. It promotes his inscrutable, cold demeanor but it impedes his ability to communicate with others. Luke never gets a chance to see his father as a person—he can’t see the man behind that mask. The challenge for Astral in Part 3 will be to convince Luke to look for that man.

Star Wars lore always has bad guys taking on new identities. First, he’s Anakin, but then he’s Vader. First, we meet Kylo, but then he’s Ben. It’s a trope aided and abetted by props like masks and black outfits and what color sword you’re holding. But I want to reject all that. In my mind, Darth Vader has always been Anakin Skywalker. He’s the same man, scarred and evolved from his youthful self. All along, much of Anakin’s personality and values remain even if they are not overt. But if you know to look for them—they are persistent. There is goodness/Light in Darth Vader, just like there is evil/Darkness in Anakin Skywalker. That inner moral conflict is the meaning of the man. I hope that’s coming across in this story. Maybe some readers might think that is a stretch, but you have to remember that Anakin was raised a Jedi to suppress his emotions. All that Jedi discipline kept things in check for the most part. But of course, Vader can never suppress his strong emotions for long. He bottles them up until they explode from time to time. Vader has his Emo Kylo Ren type moments. They’re just behind closed doors.

As an aside, I mistakenly thought those ideas of inborn conflict were the best explanation for why the sequel trilogy savaged the character of Luke Skywalker. Luke trying to kill his nephew was Luke’s pent-up Darkness asserting itself. He was afraid of what he saw brewing and he thought he could kill it to prevent it. That’s the Dark Side in Luke Skywalker that he can’t quite suppress. It’s the Vader in him. And it explains why Luke would retire to his island to die—because in the end, he did become his father all over again in a fashion. And that felt like failure to Luke. I thought that Luke ending the Jedi Order would be a good thing because it would make way for Kylo and Rey to start a new Force ideology with the best of the Jedi and the best of the Sith. But no . . . Light Side for the win again . . . sigh . . . long live the Jedi Order . . . sigh . . . I am so over it.

I guess it’s against this stark backdrop of good guys and bad guys that I like to muddy the waters. I like to focus on the Darkness in my Light characters and the Light (however dimmed) that persists within my Dark heroes. I delight in showing weak characters who make strong, bold moves and conventionally powerful characters who are vulnerable. If it’s a blueenvelopes story, then everyone is both a hero and a villain in some respect. Everyone thinks they are in the right, naturally.

_Twilight of the Gods_—the Gotterdammerung—is the final opera of Wagner’s Ring Cycle. In the opera, the Twilight of the Gods means the destruction of the Gods and the triumph of man, the destruction of Valhalla (the realm of the Gods), and the fall of the very flawed king of the Gods Wotan whose missteps and misdeeds have sown the seeds of his demise. Wotan dies and brings everyone down with him. Earth kind of reboots at the end and the Rhine overflows, and we get back to the same blazing E-flat major chord that begins the Ring cycle in _Das Rheingold_.

But colloquially, ‘Gotterdammerung’ is a stand-in for the creative destruction of the universe. The catastrophic end to a regime or to an era that ushers in enormous, irrevocable chance. Now, anyone who has seen the sequel trilogy knows that NOTHING HAS CHANGED. Therein lies the problem, in my opinion. Star Wars desperately needs a Gotterdammerung to keep it fresh and interesting. To get beyond the trap of nostalgia and retelling tales and concepts that were better expressed previously. My version of Darth Vader gets it. He wants to be the Gotterdammerung—the Chosen One who will throw out a thousand generations of Jedi-Sith ideology and warfare and make something new and better. To scrap the old ways and build upon their wreckage for the future. Plagueis wants this too. He pitches their alliance to destroy Sidious and groom Luke for a galactic Gotterdammerung courtesy of the Skywalker family.

Cresta Cole, Darth Sidious’ longtime on-again, off-again secret wifey, is back from other tales to make a few cameos. She’s pretty much the hooker with a heart of gold character who has a mouth like a sailor. Cresta was originally conceived as my version of the Underworld woman who the Emperor has a past with—motivated by old rumors concerning the aborted Star Wars Underworld tv show. Cresta’s past with Sheev Palpatine as told in _Red_ is not a great story, but it was fun to write. I liked Cresta’s ‘tell it like it is’ character so much that she appears in _Fifth Wife_ and _Fulcrum Part Two_ as well. She’s rough, crass and unfailingly kind. She is also a flashpoint of conflict between Darth Sidious and his disapproving, meddling Master Darth Plagueis.

Part 2 has deepened the relationship between Astral and Vader. I personally love how random and ordinary Astral is. There’s nothing extreme about her—from her background to her politics. She’s accomplished but not a blazing achiever. She also comes from a career—art—that is wholly different from the usual political/military/Force background of the usual Star Wars hero. She’s the farthest thing from a Mary Sue that you can get.

Star Wars heroes love to fight. ‘I fight anything and everything’ Rey is just the latest iteration on the archetype. In Star Wars, you usually define yourself by what you fight against. Poe has some line in Episode 9 about how ‘good people will fight’ because that’s what good people do in Star Wars—they fight against the evil Empire/First Order/Final Order/bad guys. And I get it—it’s not called Star WARS for nothing. But not all heroes fight. Luke famously will refuse to fight his father. It’s a great moment. And that’s the sort of hero who can get through to Lord Vader. Not someone who will fight him, but someone who engages him in ways other than conflict. You don’t have to swing a sword or use the Force to wield power. Violence and fighting are not the only means to contribute. There are other ways to be courageous as Astral will demonstrate.

Now, frankly, people like Astral can be hard for a lot of Type A power and achievement people to understand. The driven among us can tend to dismiss people without our same mindset, without our commitment to titles and LinkedIn entries and our penchant for self-improvement and hierarchy. I have had this conversation with more than one single career woman—my own sister included—who complain about the wives of their colleagues and bosses. It goes something like this: ‘She’s a teacher/She was an event planner/She never worked a real job ever. What does he see in her? She’s accomplished nothing.’ The very question presumes that your character is the sum of your resume and your self-worth is your income. It also presumes that romantic attachments have the logic and analysis of a business decision.

He didn’t hire her as co-counsel, he chose her for a wife, I recently remarked to a frustrated 40ish single friend. I know the couple she was bitching about. The wife is pretty, sweet, and unfailingly positive. That’s attractive, I pointed out to my honestly baffled friend. Not every guy wants to come home to an overly critical, hard to please, challenging sort. Some just want easy companionship in a pretty package. But she’s just not his equal, came my friend’s insistent rejoinder. Again, her assumption is that a woman increasing her professional cred makes her a more attractive romantic partner. And that’s not always how it works. Plus, not everyone wants a romantic partner they have to compete with.

I guess in many ways, Padme is more of the equal to Vader. Senator Padme was a leader. A principled woman probably full of economic and social policy theories. The kind of woman very comfortable at a podium and before a crowd. She’s confident, polished, and self-assured. Astral has those qualities too but she has earned them over time. They didn’t come effortlessly. She’s more an academic than anything. Probably an introvert. Less logical and more intuitive in her intelligence. Astral didn't set out to solve the galaxy’s problems, she focused on culture. Until recently, she was the Uncle Owen type who didn’t get involved. She generally would prefer to be an observer of change, not a protagonist for it. Padme, of course, would be in the thick of the action. Probably a founding member of the Rebel Alliance with Mon Mothma. Because Padme is the fighter type that Astral is not.

I truly believe that had Padme lived, she would have grown to hate and fear her husband. Even had they had the chance to hash things out in private, there would be no lasting reconciliation. I just don’t see a woman as committed to democracy and the Old Republic values as Padme getting comfortable with the Imperial dictatorship. Nor do I see her understanding Anakin’s religious inquisition against the Jedi. It’s one thing for her to look the other way when he kills sandpeople. It’s another thing to condone Order 66. I think Padme would have ended up leaving Vader and fleeing with the children. There was never going to be a happily ever after for those two.

Of course, Padme met Anakin at his youthful best self, watched him struggle and ultimately fall. Years later, Astral meets him as his worst self and sees him struggle to retain what’s left of his humanity and his hope. She’s helping him rise. Do not discount how feared and hated Vader would be at this time. Sure, we the viewers know he was once good, but Astral doesn’t have that knowledge. Most people would have thought she was enormously self-delusional.

In my mind, Padme and Astral are very different and they look different as well. Padme would probably still be walking around in the Star Wars version of vintage 1980s Christian Lacroix and fluffy Oscar de la Renta. Whereas almost everything Astral owns comes from The Row, and she lives in the Stella McCartney cape gowns that are so popular with all their variety. Astral is sleek and chic to the point of sparseness. Her look is far more stylized than pretty. It’s also the sort of understated presentation that can seem plain by comparison. But it fits the understated art critic woman who wears it. Still, like Padme, Astral is well educated and posh. She unconsciously projects the cultural elite background she belongs too. She’s very much a lady in her manners and mannerisms.

As always, this story presents Anakin’s version of events and his perspective on the past. It’s far from the canon version of events. But I’m pretty subversive about my Star Wars. I like to look at these characters and stories from a different point of view. Not necessarily to change the original, but to flesh it out and enjoy it more. Anything good ought to withstand a little scrutiny. This is a mature story written for adults who can appreciate the nuances of good and bad and the concept of an unreliable narrator who is defensive and guilty. Far too many Star Wars fans seem to take everything characters say in the movies at face value, like it’s a Pilgrim’s Progress type morality play. And, yeah, that’s probably how most of it is intended. But in blueenvelopes fan fiction what you hear on screen is only part of the story.

Part 1 introduced our heroine Astral to Lord Vader’s life. Part 2 introduced his creator/father Darth Plagueis into the mix. For Part 3, enter Luke Skywalker. All the major players are on the scene now, and they will begin to dance around each other. We’re heading to where we’ve always been heading . . . the Death Star throne room.


	29. chapter 29

“I knew you would be back." Cloaked and hooded Darth Plagueis the Wise purrs out his smug satisfaction. 

It is irritating. Vader isn’t happy to be back in a rundown Sith Temple on Naboo talking to this guy of all people. But the events of Bespin were deeply unsettling. He’s at a loss for what to do and where to go next. Vader is too much of a veteran campaigner not to realize that he needs help. So he’ll let this leftover, has-been think he’s playing along with his schemes in exchange for some free advice. This guy plotted the Clone Wars so he’s got plenty of strategic insight. Vader plans to listen to what the broken Muun has to say and be noncommittal.

“Need my help, do you?”

Isn’t that obvious? But Vader refuses to acknowledge it.

"Come now, I know you found him,” Plagueis prods.

“Who talked?”

“Your bounty hunter friend. Guns for hire are just that—guns for hire And I pay more than you do,” the old Master smirks.

Yes, that’s what Vader thought. And now, though it pains him to do so, he spits out, “Thank you for collecting Astral.” Had things gone differently, she might have been in real danger. This guy is still totally untrustworthy, but he did prove useful. So Vader coughs up an obligatory thank you.

“You are most welcome.” His counterpart regally nods like it’s noblesse oblige, making Vader all the more irritated to be indebted to him. “I like your wife. She’s good for you, my boy,” Plagueis piles on more condescension. Then, he’s on to business. “Well, did you meet Luke?" 

"Yes.” Disappointment makes Vader especially terse. How does he explain what happened without making himself look bad? He settles on brevity. “He escaped." 

And that outcome is not a surprise to the crafty Muun. "That was the idea, Lord Vader." 

No, that was Plagueis' idea, not his own. Vader had intended all along to capture his boy and to hide him away. For his son does not yet realize his importance. Young Luke has no idea how much danger he is in from Palpatine. And, very likely, from this shady Muun. 

Darth Plagueis has sharp eyes that seem to look through his mask. Right now, they stare intently as he awaits more information. Feeling increasingly sheepish, Vader glosses over things again. “The Force was with him. That Rebel princess repaid the favor for her rescue off the Death Star.”

“Did she now?” Plagueis looks somewhat amused at this news. “How the Force works in mysterious ways,” he chuckles.

And what is that supposed to mean? “The princess is not with Luke. She’s attached to some smuggler fellow.”

“The one you gave to Jabba the Hutt?”

“Yes.” How did Plagueis know that? Oh yes, from the bounty hunter who he paid handsomely.

"What did you learn from the boy? Tell me about the boy.”

"He’s a Rebel," Vader answers glumly. “A terrorist extremist.” This is the explanation for Luke’s death leap at Bespin, he has decided. His kid is a zealot. Maybe that shouldn’t be a surprise since Luke Skywalker is the celebrated hero pilot of the Rebellion and the last true Jedi Padawan. But it is deeply disappointing. Vader is frustrated and slightly terrified of what happens next. That’s why he is back in this gloomy temple meeting once again with the mysterious Muun whose motives are anyone’s guess. "He is lost to me already. Kenobi had him first, then Yoda,” Vader laments. “They ruined him."

The Sith Master across the room disagrees. "He blew up your Death Star, but he is no true Rebel. Luke Skywalker is a farm boy who got caught up in events of your own making. It was you, Lord Vader, who flushed the boy and Kenobi out of hiding."

"No,” he bristles. "It was an accident that Luke intercepted those plans."

Plagueis shoots him a sharp look of reproof and wags a skeletal clawed finger his direction. "That was no accident. That was the Force. You yourself set things in motion that led to this conclusion. If he’s a radical, it’s because your men killed his aunt and uncle and you yourself slayed his mentor. The boy doesn’t know enough yet to put those actions in proper context. He still thinks you are the villain."

“I’m sure Yoda has told him plenty,” Vader gripes. But he volunteers the one bright spot of the Bespin confrontation, "Luke is strong with the Force.”

“How strong?”

“Very strong.” Vader can’t keep the wistful note from his voice. Because he too had once been strong with the Force in his youth. “He is strong with the Force but half trained at best.”

Plagueis nods. “That is to be expected. In the end, it means he will have less to unlearn. What else?"

"Kenobi told him that I betrayed and murdered his father."

The Muun chuckles at this news. Like it’s funny, even though it’s not. Far from it, actually. "I suppose that tale is true," Plagueis muses slyly, "from a certain point of view. Luke was surprised then. Good," he approves. "It will force young Skywalker to reconsider much of what he has been told. Was he angry?” The Muun sounds hopeful.

Vader considers the question. “Disbelieving.”

“How did you convince him to believe the truth? Did you tell him anything of your past?”

“No.”

“So you did not speak of your Jedi years? Of how you came to reject their creed?”

“No.”

“Does he know that he was stolen from you by the Jedi? Does he know that he was raised their soft hostage? To be the instrument of their revenge on his own father?”

“No.”

“Did you tell him anything of yourself? Of your own upbringing on Tatooine?”

“No.” They didn’t do much talking. They were far too busy fighting.

“What about his mother? Did you tell him about his mother? Boys always love their mothers.”

Again, “No.” And actually, Vader doesn’t want to talk about Padme to Luke. He’d rather not go there. It’s too painful and awkward to confess that he choked her while the boy was still in the womb.

“Did you tell him about his lost twin sister, then? Did you promise the boy that we will search until we reunite all the living Skywalkers?”

“No.” Vader fights the urge to shift his stance uncomfortably. He’s not enjoying the elder Sith’s cross examination.

“Then what did you tell him?” Plagueis demands. He’s impatient and clearly unimpressed by what he’s hearing. “Did you at least make him an offer?”

"Yes. He refused."

"Indeed. What a surprise." Darth Plagueis gives him a hard, contemptuous look. Then he reaches into his voluminous robes for something. "Tell me, Lord Vader, did you make him the offer before or after this?" 

The Sith Master hurls to the ground at Vader's feet a clear plastic bag. Inside it is his old Jedi lightsaber hilt. And wrapped around it is his son's bloody and shriveled severed hand. 

Well, fuck.

Vader just looks. 

Darth Plagueis steps forward and his tone is stone cold. "So to persuade the orphaned son who thought you killed his father, you decide to capture and torture his best friends and the girl he admires? And when you finally meet the boy, you tell him who you are. But you share nothing of the man who he and the rest of the galaxy know only as a mask. You do not tease him with truths of the past and stories of his mother. You do not tempt him to find in you the family he has never had. You merely offer him the Dark Side he has been taught to fear. And then, to seal the deal, you cut off his hand?" The senior Sith sneers his sarcasm, "How strategic of you to confirm everything negative the boy believes about you."

Again, Vader says nothing. 

"Was this necessary?" the Muun hisses as he gestures to his son's gory rotting hand. "Can the Jedi hero of the Clone Wars not out-duel a boy with meager training? Surely, he was not even a credible threat to a mature Sith. Could you not gracefully have ended the fight at a draw to encourage the boy and to help him save face?"

"He landed a blow," Vader explains stiffly. 

"Good for him!” the Muun snaps back. “You should have commended the boy's efforts rather than punished him." Plagueis is seething with indignant anger now. It’s . . . well, it’s very effective. Sheev Palpatine has nothing on his old Master. This guy is well and truly terrifying right now. Vader doesn’t just see his hot rage, he feels it in the Force. Pulsating fast and hard. Like it is barely restrained.

"Your goal was to persuade, Lord Vader! To lure! To make Luke question everything he knows about the man he thought killed his father. To make him wonder about the motives of his Jedi mentors. To dangle bits and pieces of truth that contradict the lies that boy was raised on. All with the promise that you, his long-lost, welcoming father, will supply the answers. He is hungry for truth, and you have it!" Old Darth Plagueis steps back now and crosses his arms as he passes judgment. "How very deeply you disappointment me, son."

Silence hangs heavy in the air for a long moment between the two men. But Vader regroups. He’s Palpatine’s Apprentice. He’s used to criticism. Plus, this isn’t the first time he has let people down. So with a resignation born of long practice, he shrugs it off. “The boy will be back."

"Possibly," the Muun concedes. "Our best hope now is that he will be back with revenge in his heart and we can use it to stoke his Darker impulses. To pry him out of the Jedi mindset." The Sith's yellow eyes narrow and flash at him. "I am half tempted to let him kill you as his path of descent into Darkness. For if young Skywalker hates you enough to leap to certain death rather than join you, he hates you enough to kill you."

Vader is now further taken aback. Just how much does this guy know and how does he know it? And how did he get the saber? His stormtroopers hadn’t been able to locate it. Vader is confounded. Defensive. And deeply suspicious.

Darth Plagueis now returns to his plotting. "We need a new strategy for the boy. Sheev will think him more powerful now that he has escaped you. And," that ruined face slants Vader a sideways glance, "he did land a blow." 

Vader fumes in silence. He doesn’t like being reminded of that.

"You have endangered yourself further. The stronger that boy appears, the more expendable you become. And if the boy is prepared to kill you, then that will become Sheev's next move. He will pit you against one another. It is the obvious play."

"He can't kill me," Vader rumbles.

"Are you sure about that?” Plagueis needles him back. “Because if Sheev gets the three of you in the same room, there will be a fight to the death. You may be forced to kill Luke to save face with Sheev. To save yourself. Are you prepared to do that?"

No. Hell no. But Vader refuses to look like a sentimental fool before this legendary Sith Master, so he growls, "If that is his destiny, so be it. I will kill him." After all, every Sith knows that a weak Apprentice is not an Apprentice worth having.

"Beware of destiny,” the Muun retorts. “Do not make it your convenient excuse for failure, my Lord. True destiny cannot be subverted. The Force did not surface your long-lost child without a reason. That boy will matter, mark my words. Luke Skywalker will make history for more than just the Death Star." 

Vader gulps behind his mask. Because he was the one supposed to make history. Until the Force and everyone else gave up on him as the Chosen One. It’s an old hurt that still stings, but he pretends otherwise. He knows he squandered his chance long ago. “Fine. Let the boy balance the Force.”

“He’ll never do it without you,” Plagueis observes softly. Something about the way he says it makes Vader wonder what Plagueis has foreseen in the Force. Does he already know what happens? Vader himself no longer gets visions. They went away when his Force powers diminished from his injuries. That was the one bright spot amid his humiliating, life-altering defeat. Because he’s always hated Force visions—for him, they were never good news.

The old Muun Sith persists, “You are the example that boy needs to see. You must be the counterpoint to Yoda and Kenobi, not Sheev.”

“Luke thinks I want to lure him to the Dark Side.”

“You want to lure him to a middle ground. To be both Light and Dark.”

“He’ll never understand that. You’re one or the other, not both, in the Jedi mindset.” Each orientation—Light or Dark—is presumed to preclude the other. That’s why by definition, a Jedi cannot be grey or whatever it means to be in the middle. And neither can a Sith, for that matter. “He’ll never understand,” beleaguered Vader complains, “and I doubt I can demonstrate being both Light and Dark to convince him.”

“Sure, you can.”

Discouraged, Vader shakes his head and finds himself confessing his most shameful secret. “I’ll never balance the Force.”

“You will.”

But again, Vader shakes his head. “It’s too late for me.” That dream died, along with so many others, on the banks of a lava river.

Darth Plagueis frowns and his gargoyle visage becomes ever more hideous. He looks especially old now as he slowly muses. “If balancing the Force were as easy as conceiving of the idea of balance, then someone would have done it long ago. Revan got the closest, but even he ultimately reverted to the Light. Time and again, when a Jedi or a Sith breaks free of their orthodoxy, they can’t quite do it. Either they get hunted by their former brethren or they return back to their old ways. In Revan’s case, it was both.“ The towering Muun shakes his head and laments, “It seems it is hard to resist the pull to extremes.”

“Sidious has become extreme,” Vader gripes.

“That is my doing. I made him the old school Sith he is. Sheev was a means to an end for me once I knew you were around. He was my tool to collapse the Republic and to kill the Jedi. I stoked his lust for power and revenge, and turned him loose to pave the way for your ascendancy. His role was to do my dirty work.”

Vader can only imagine how his Master would have reacted to being relegated to that position. No wonder Plagueis looks so wrecked.

“Sheev knew I planned to discard him. But instead of killing you as his rival, he usurped my role as Master. I mistakenly assumed he was a threat to you, and not to me. I failed to perceive his true power. So you see . . . I too have failed.“ The exiled Sith actually looks a bit chagrined and apologetic. “My failure had great consequences for the galaxy . . . and for our family. My son, I too have been humbled. But it was the lesson I needed to finally convince me of the error of my ways. I learned the hard way that Darkness is not the solution.”

So there’s no Sith like a reformed Sith? Vader is doubtful. “Then why don’t you balance the Force?” he jeers.

“If I could, I would,” Darth Plagueis the Wise plainly admits. “Alas, that is not my destiny.” His anger appears to have dissipated in the face of Vader’s undisguised discouragement. Plagueis starts in on a pep talk now. “Lord Vader, the most difficult position to be in is the middle. Far safer to retreat to one corner or another. To rally your forces and to know your diametrically opposed enemy at a glance. For to be in the middle is to get hit from both sides. To eschew bright lines and clarity in favor of nuance. To lack consistency and a creed.”

Vader nods along, wondering where this is going.

“Moderation is far more difficult than extremism. Compromise can be more onerous than war. Shouting at someone you disagree with is much easier than listening to them. That’s why it is easier to divide than to unite.”

Is Vader supposed to be impressed by that wisdom? He’s not. “Every Sith knows that.”

“Yes, yes,” his counterpart waves a dismissive hand. “It has been our way for many, many years. We exploit, we manipulate, we divide. And for what end? Bane wanted to topple the Republic. That’s been done. Now we have to hold an Empire together. Sheev wants to do it by oppression and fear. That works, but it has limits, as Mon Mothma’s Rebellion has revealed.”

Vader thinks he overestimates their chances. “The Rebellion will die soon. Hoth was a major defeat. The Rebels will soon run short of equipment even if they have a steady supply of volunteers.”

“Not if I keep funding them,” Plagueis answers coyly.

What? What?? “You are behind the Rebellion?” Vader didn’t see that coming, but he probably should have. This guy clearly loves to meddle. He probably can’t stand being out of the action watching Sheev rule.

“I’m the Rebellion’s largest donor,” Plagueis brags.

Vader is pissed. “Why? Why are you starting a civil war?” he demands.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Revenge on Sheev?”

“No, but that’s an added benefit,” sly Plagueis grins. Then, he piously announces, “I’m safeguarding the Light. Making sure it has a voice by funding your loyal opposition.”

Riiight. Vader deploys maximum sarcasm. “Forgive my skepticism.” This guy is just doing what he did a generation ago orchestrating the chaos of the Clone Wars. The entire galaxy suffered for it. Not that it matters to Darth Plagueis, he suspects.

But the old guy is back waxing eloquent about metaphysics again. “Lord Vader, we Sith were wrong. Peace is not a lie. Peace is just very, very hard. But the Jedi were wrong too. Peace is not the absence of conflict. You don’t achieve peace by the triumph of the Light. All you have done is prepare for the next cycle of war when Darkness rises anew. For the Shadow Force is eternal, like its flipside the Light. Neither side exists without the other. And therefore, the only way to destroy Darkness is to destroy all life itself. Mutual assured destruction is the logical end to the Jedi-Sith vendetta.”

He’s right. Vader refuses to admit it though.

“What our galaxy needs now, what the Empire requires to prosper, is a little more Light.” Plagueis flashes a devious smile as he breezily explains, “So, I throw a few credits over to Senator Mothma to make things interesting.”

“She’s your puppet?“

“Oh, far from it,” he disavows. “I give my money anonymously with no strings attached.”

“Again, forgive my skepticism,” Vader drawls. 

That remark earns him another lecture. “Lord Vader, beware the tendency for Force users to ignore the impact of the common man. The cosmic Force doesn’t just work its wiles through people like us. The laypeople matter in the aggregate, and their numbers far surpass ours. Do not discount the ebb and flow of popular opinion in the galaxy at large.”

“Especially when it’s funded by a Sith?“ Vader asks pointedly.

Plagueis actually chuckles. “That just makes it extra effective,” he assures. “Now, then, it is clear that you are not the best messenger for young Luke, Lord Vader. We must plot a new strategy. We must approach him differently.”

We? We?? There is no ‘we’ in this. “Stay away from him!” Vader growls with a vehemence that surprises even himself. So much for that crack about killing Luke if it is his destiny. Vader just showed his true colors. 

For his part, Plagueis looks very pleased by his quick reaction. He hastens to assure him, “I will remain in the background for now. In my place, I have sent a new emissary to meet him.”

Uh oh. “Who?”

“Astral.”

“Astral? You sent Astral??“ Vader booms. He’s horrified. 

“She was a volunteer.”

Of course, she was. But that was Plagueis’ cue to say ‘no’ to her. Astral is not cut out for this sort of thing. She’ll get herself in all sorts of trouble. Serious, deadly trouble. Plus, the last thing the dysfunctional Skywalker family needs is young Luke killing his stepmother. “Once she tells him who she is, she’s going to end up in a Rebel prison!” Vader warns. “Or worse!”

“We discussed the risks.”

Vader snaps back, “You didn’t discuss them with me.” Astral didn’t discuss them with him either. Probably because she knew he would forbid her involvement.

For his part, Plagueis is largely unconcerned. “If she is captured, you can play the hero and rescue her. You’re good at that sort of thing.”

“I forbid this!” Vader bellows. Now, the tables are turned and he’s the outraged, angry Sith in the room who’s venting. 

“It’s too late. She’s already on Tatooine.“

Tatooine. Of course, Tatooine. Vader figured Luke would head there to rescue his smuggler friend. But Astral is already there? Vader gulps. That’s in the Outer Rim. It’s far too late to intercept her now. But when he catches up with his wife, they are going to have a discussion. She doesn’t get to pull a stunt like this. She’s taking a foolish risk with little chance of success.

“What could Astral say to Luke that could help matters? She’s a laywoman,” Vader dismisses her role. 

“She couldn’t possibly make things any worse than you did,” Plagueis counters coolly. Vader now involuntarily glances down at his son’s gory, severed hand. Plagueis may have a point there, but Vader refuses to admit it. 

“Her lack of Force will be an advantage. She’s not a threat to anyone. That could allow the young man to lower his guard. Let her charm the boy.”

“That will never happen,” Vader harrumphs.

Again, Plagueis skewers him with the truth. “She charmed you, didn't she? You’re not exactly warm and fuzzy. Lord Vader, there are very effective skills that do not require the Force. You might do well to learn some of them.”

“If she dies, I will hold you responsible!” Vader threatens. He means it, too.

“Stand down. She will be fine.” And now again, Plagueis can’t resist the urge to make this a teachable moment. Here again, comes a lecture. “There was a time when the Sith operated in the shadows of ordinary public life. When Sheev and I couldn’t simply call in an air strike to deal with a problem. We had to manipulate and to persuade, to bend people to our will with more than mere violence. That experience taught skills you are sorely lacking, my son.”

Whatever. He’s no lawyer and the galaxy is way past the glory days of Darth Plagueis marching around setting dubious monetary policy and devaluing currencies as the Banking Clan Chairman while his Apprentice bought and sold the Old Republic Senate. Times change and the Sith change with them. And if Vader has his way, someday there will be no more covert Sith machinations going forward.

That said, he really wishes Astral hadn’t been dragged into this mess. “Do you really think she can help?” he wonders aloud, his skepticism fully evident.

“Do not underestimate her. She’s your best advocate.”

“She doesn’t know the first thing about how to handle this sort of situation—“

“Maybe not, but she knows you. She loves you. She’s probably your only character witness at this point,” Plagueis observes. “She knows firsthand what young Skywalker needs to hear—that his father is a man to admire and to emulate.”

That assessment shuts Vader up. Because is he a man to be proud of? He’s not so sure. He’s mostly failed at everything he’s ever done. He was a lousy Jedi turned lousy Sith. A man broken and humbled, with barely half his old Force power. He never ruled the galaxy and he never will. And these days, he can’t even manage to keep it from falling into civil war again thanks to the deep pockets of this crafty Muun. He keeps going nonetheless, hoping he still has a purpose. That one day, someday, he will live up to his destiny.

But for now, Vader is rattled, very rattled. Upset by his son’s severed limb at his feet and chagrined by his well-meaning wife’s foolish adventure to Tatooine. How many people he cares about will have to pay for his fuck ups, Vader wonders. He’s supposed to protect his family, but he seems only to fail them. From his mother, to Padme, to Luke, and now Astral. The bitter truth rattles him deeply. And so, Vader does what he always does when he is anxious--he lashes out.

“If she dies, you will suffer!” Vader threatens again. 

Right now, even diminished as he is, Vader feels angry enough to best the legendary Darth Plagueis. For if anger is power, then he is no doubt supreme. For decades, he has wrestled with a fury that has no lasting relief. He vents it in petty vindictiveness, convenient warfare, and casual cruelty from time to time to take the edge off. But at this moment, no Sith that ever lived can rival the white-hot rage of Darth Vader. He is angry at his son for his rejection, angry at his wife for her unwelcome intervention, and angry at his so-called father for his Rebel treachery. But most of all, he is angry at himself. And therein lies the true despair of Darth Vader—his buried regrets, his secret shame, and his pervasive self-loathing.

For as long as he can remember, something has been broken in him. Padme couldn’t fix it, the Jedi couldn’t fix it, the Dark Side couldn’t fix it, and he knows Astral won’t be able to fix it either. But he perseveres like he always does. He’s no quitter. Plus, he knows that when things are Darkest signals the coming of the Light. That gives him hope. Bespin may have been an unmitigated disaster, but Vader now senses the long-awaited course correction in the Force. The Light is rising and that can mean only one thing: Darth Sidious is heading for a fall. Hopefully, when it all transpires, he, Astral, and Luke will still be standing. And this supposedly immortal Muun? Well, Vader would be fine if he’s a casualty.

But does old Plagueis see his torment? He must, for he admonishes again, “It will be fine. She will be fine.”

“She better be,” Vader growls back.


	30. chapter 30

What a desolate place Tatooine is. Astral knew that Darth Vader’s homeworld would be awful. But she didn’t expect it to be quite this bad. Tatooine turns out to be one of those remote Rim worlds that were only technically part of the Republic—meaning its citizens paid Republic taxes but received scant benefits in return. As a result, even now, the desert planet is largely undeveloped and sparsely populated. And still today, the biggest local employer is the Hutt gang. That unfortunate fact has made Tatooine something of a haven for all sorts of disreputable types who fly in and hang out.

Watch yourself, the Force projection of old Darth Plagueis had warned her, this place can be a little rough. Astral gulped and nodded. May the Force be with you, her father-in-law next blessed her like a Jedi. Then, Astral hopped in a speeder and headed for the first set of pre-programmed coordinates.

Her destination turns out to be an hourlong trip from the Mos Eisley spaceport where Darth Plagueis’ nondescript cruiser is parked. To get there, Astral flies through a large expanse of uninhabited desert called the Dune Sea. She sees no one during the entire trip. Not the Tusken Raiders she has been warned about or the big sandcrawler vehicles the local alien scavengers use. All she sees is sand. Lots and lots of sand.

The boredom encourages her mind wander. To thoughts of her beleaguered husband who desperately needs a game changer if there is to be any hope of a reconciliation with his son. From there, she moves on to thoughts of poor hapless Luke Skywalker, whose whole life has been upended by the revelation that his father is his archenemy, the fearsome Darth Vader. And that encourages Astral to wonder about Luke’s nameless, faceless, lost twin sister who is out there somewhere still ignorant of her heritage. The tragedy of the fractured Skywalker family—torn apart by politics, by the Force, and by war—is hard to ignore. Astral wants to do her part to make things better. For with Alderaan gone, these people are her only hope for a family.

Luke Skywalker is also her chance to explore a role that Astral thought she would never enjoy: mother. The possibility resurfaces old longings Astral struggled with years ago and moved passed. For as everyone matures in life, they are forced to grapple with opportunities forgone and roads not taken. By their inherent nature, life choices tend to narrow over time, rather than widen. But it’s not like Astral affirmatively decided against having children. She would have done the kid thing, if she had stayed married. Part of what Astral lost in her divorce was the future family she and Leo would have built. Over time due to her single status, the chance to become a biological mother passed her by in a sort of creeping nonchoice.

That means Luke Skywalker is her last, best hope—belatedly, suddenly, and quite unexpectedly—to have a parent type relationship. The possibility of being a stepmother has Astral both scared and excited. It’s a little late, she knows. Luke is a fully grown adult, obviously. But that doesn’t mean they can’t have a meaningful relationship in time. And so, Astral wants this first meeting to work out for her husband, but she also very much wants it to work out for herself. For in her own way and for her own reasons, Astral wants to reunite the Skywalkers.

A lot hinges on this surprise visit. The future of her family, perhaps the future of the Empire, maybe even the future of the Force. The context gives Astral butterflies in her stomach when finally she pulls her speeder up to the coordinates Darth Plagueis gave her. Yes, this is the place. It looks just like he described.

“Force, be with me.” Astral now murmurs aloud the ancient prayer she’s not sure she believes. Sure, she’s a believer that the Force exists. She’s seen her husband’s magical powers too many times by now to doubt them. But does the Force really command the course of galactic events? Like every free and independent person everywhere, Astral wants to believe that she makes her own destiny. That it is her decision to present herself to Luke Skywalker today, not some directive of an unseen, all-powerful energy field that controls the universe. But whether it is her free will or the will of the Force—or maybe both—Astral really wants this to work. 

She is expected. Was it the noise of her speeder or her presence in the Force that alerted her arrival? Either way, she’s about to meet her stepson. That has to be him. The young man standing in the doorway of Kenobi’s abandoned cement hut looks just like the boy from the photos. Still dark blonde with a now fading tan and a trim, athletic build. He’s dressed in a vaguely military looking jumpsuit and boots that lack any insignia of belonging. Still, the clothes reinforce the impression that he’s a covert Rebel. Well, he’s really THE covert Rebel. This is the man the whole galaxy is looking for.

He’s knows it, too. His demeanor is wary as he stands in the darkened doorway. “Who are you?” he calls as Astral alights from the speeder.

She too is wary now as she watches his right hand stray closer to the holstered blaster on his leg. This man is not overtly friendly, and not overtly hostile, but ready all the same. Observing him, Astral can’t help but notice that his right hand has a generic light skin color and texture that does not quite match the rest of him. This must be the hand that is now a prosthetic.

“My name is Astral Sidhu,” she announces as she walks up close. “I’m a friend,” she adds nervously with what she hopes is a reassuring smile. 

But the young man rejects this label. “I don’t know you.“ He looks her over in silence for a long moment. Assessing her. Finally, he speaks. “You’re not from around here.“

“Does it show?” Astral is unabashedly self-effacing, standing there sweating in her Coruscant casual clothes that look nothing like the neutral colored utilitarian garments she saw the locals wearing. She’s dressed to amble down the wide boulevards of the Upper Level on Saturday afternoon, not to ride a speeder through the desert and scramble over sand. “I’ve come a long way to Tatooine,” Astral smiles sheepishly, knowing she appears a bit ridiculous in this setting. 

Luke doesn’t return the smile. He’s not combative, just decidedly cool. Defensive. “Your skin is too pale. And those shoes are not for the desert,” he observes.

She nods. This particular pair of boots is ruined. Trying to put the young man more at ease, Astral volunteers, “I’m from Alderaan, but I live on Coruscant now.”

“Yeah, I can hear it in your accent.” Luke Skywalker has the broad flat speech of the Rim, much like his father. Whereas Astral has the crisp upper crust inflection spoken in the mostly patrician Core Worlds.

Luke watches as she pulls off her headscarf and shakes out the sand. It’s everywhere on her skin and hair. After one afternoon on Tatooine, Astral may never be clean again. “Why are you here? Are you lost?” Luke asks. “This part of the Dune Sea has lots of Tuskens around. They don’t like humans,” he warns, knowing she’s from off world.

But Astral is reasonably safe with the wide perimeter Darth Plagueis’ men have established around the Kenobi homestead. Her father-in-law had insisted she arrive unarmed—which was fine by Astral—but it also meant she needed backup who could swoop in to help if she signaled on her comlink.

As the young man looks to her expectantly, Astral answers, “I’m looking for someone. For Luke Skywalker.” 

He doesn’t admit to his name, but Astral continues all the same. “I knew you would come back to rescue your friend from the Hutt. You came for him once already.” She speaks softly as she holds Luke’s gaze. His eyes are clear blue, making her wonder if they came from his father. From before her husband’s eyes turned yellow. 

The implications of her words are not lost on her audience. Luke’s young face sets into a grim expression and his right hand drops down even closer to his holstered weapon. He’s threatened. “Should I be expecting an ambush?” he asks plainly, in a manner that is strongly reminiscent of his father. 

“No. It’s just me. I am unarmed.” Astral demonstrates by raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I mean you no harm.”

Luke Skywalker looks unconvinced. “Who are you?” he demands again.

“I’m Astral Sidhu. I’m a friend.”

Her secret stepson now tries to get rid of her. “Look ma'am, you need to move along. I’ve got a lot of work to do—“

“On your lightsaber?” Astral’s eyes dart past him to the disassembled weapon and tools that lie on a table just inside the door threshold. Luke must have pushed the small work table near the doorway to take advantage of the sunlight, while still seeking shade. “I know what it is,” she says softly. “This was Master Kenobi’s home, right?” Astral drops another bit of information in hopes it will encourage Luke’s interest. 

It works. “Did you know him?“ the boy asks hopefully. 

“No.” Astral’s eyes avert from the immediate excitement in Luke Skywalker’s eyes. It’s clear he esteems the man who maimed his father horribly. In this moment, Astral fully realizes that she has her work cut out for her. She swallows hard and replies, “I only know the pain that Kenobi caused.” It’s the pain her husband endures daily, and the pain that led to this boy’s alienation from his own family. The Jedi are to blame for a lot, in Astral’s opinion. Especially Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Who are you?” Luke stares her down. She clearly has his interest now.

“I’m Astral Sidhu and I’m--”

“I know your name,” he interrupts. “Who are you?” He’s not rude, he’s just very direct. 

Taking a deep breath, Astral plows forward. It’s now or never. This is what she came for. And so, she reveals quietly and with much trepidation, “In some circles, I am known as Lady Vader.”

“Vader . . .” Luke breathes out the name, his expression intense but inscrutable. “You’re Lady Vader . . .”

“Yes.” Trying to sound as non-threatening and welcoming as possible, Astral confirms, “I am married to Lord Vader, your father.“

Luke digests this news. Again, he looks hopeful. “And that makes you—“

“Your stepmother,” Astral answers quickly. Because he’s not thinking that she is his mother, is he? Astral quickly adds, “Your mother is dead. The Emperor killed her.”

“Oh.” The word is full of disappointment. “Oh.” Luke Skywalker looks down as he says it again. And yes, he had clearly hoped that she was his mother.

“I’m s-sorry,” cringing Astral tries to make amends. “I should not have said that so bluntly. That was very insensitive of me.” The crestfallen boy had hoped to find his mother alive, like his supposedly dead father who abruptly reappeared in his life. Now, Astral feels terrible. Her face flames with embarrassment. She should have guessed Luke would not know the truth. After all, the Jedi told him that Lord Vader betrayed and murdered his father. Who knows what lies this kid was told about his mother?

“My mother is dead?” the young man confirms woodenly. 

“Yes, I’m sorry. She has been gone many years. She died about the time you were born. I’m sorry . . .” The conversation has now shifted from stilted and tense to incredibly awkward. “I thought you knew . . . I figured they told you . . . but I guess not . . .”

Luke Skywalker just nods. His face looks bleak as he looks away. Again, Astral is strongly reminded of his father. Because that’s just the expression Lord Vader makes when he speaks of the past.

Astral continues softly. She hadn’t intended to be the one to break the news to her stepson about his doomed mother, but now she feels she owes him an explanation. “The Emperor killed your mother and blamed it on your father. He did it to hurt your father and probably to kill you. The Emperor fears you.”

Luke says nothing. He just turns and walks a few steps inside.

Maybe that is supposed to be a dismissal of sorts. That’s certainly how his father would intend it. But Astral boldly takes the move as a silent invitation to follow him into the small concrete hut. It’s dim inside, sandy and ransacked looking. Whatever possessions the Jedi Master kept, they appear to have been looted. There’s not much left, and what remains is a mess. Luke Skywalker stands amid it all, facing away in silhouette against a sunlit window.

He knows she’s here. “Are you sure there’s no ambush?” the boy asks without turning around. 

“It’s just me.” Darth Plagueis had assured Astral that his men will remain far enough away not to be detected in the Force.

“Did he send you?” The unspecified ‘he’ being Darth Vader, of course.

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Astral admits. In fact, her husband is going to be livid when he learns she came.

Her eyes fall on the right hand that Luke clenches and unclenches in a fist. Astral recognizes the unconscious gesture. It’s to cope with the pain from the new neural connections of his prosthetic fusing to his body. Astral recalls how excruciating that had been for Lord Vader at times. And so, she ventures softly with concern, “How’s your hand?”

“It’s fine.”

That too is a response worthy of his father. Astral now reaches into her pocket for the medicine she begged from Dr. Levy. She offers the small pot to Luke. “I brought you some salve for the collar implant. In time, the swelling will go down and the pain will lessen—“

“It’s fine.”

“This really helps your father. It’s specially compounded for him. You can’t buy it.”

Luke Skywalker says nothing, but the set of his jaw in profile betrays that he is gritting his teeth. Is it from the pain? Could it be from her?

Astral nervously begins explaining. “Your father just got new collar implants last year. I know how painful that is. I know how long it takes to fully heal. Did you know that he has four bionic limbs? Most people don’t . . . He hides it well . . . ” Astral’s rambling voice trails off as she settles on the cogent point: “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry about what happened.” Can Luke sense how sincere she is?

Again, “It’s fine.”

“He regrets that. He is ashamed of that.” Astral looks down and mutters, “I guess you're afraid of him now . . . “

That comment provokes a reaction. Luke Skywalker turns to declare staunchly, “I'm not afraid of him.“

He is emphatic, but neither of them is convinced.

“It's okay,” Astral soothes. “Everyone is afraid of him at first. But confronting fear is the destiny of a Jedi, right?“

Luke Skywalker blinks at her. “Where did you hear that?”

“From an old Jedi--your father.”

“He’s no Jedi,” Luke hisses back with a steely blue glare. 

From the offended look in his eye, Astral can see that she just put her foot in her mouth again. Yikes, this is going poorly. Anxious to change the topic, Astral now reoffers the salve. “Here, take it. Rub it in well. Massage helps to prevent scar tissue from forming.”

“I said it’s fine,” Luke grumbles testily.

“Yes, of course. I’ll just leave it here.” Astral places the salve pot on the table next to the disassembled lightsaber. “I have a really good doctor who can help,” she ventures weakly, “if you change your mind, that is.”

“I won’t.”

“Alright,” Astral concedes defeat and backs down. 

And now, a long, uncomfortable silence falls. Luke peers at her and she stares back. He doesn’t ask her to leave, though. So that’s somewhat encouraging. Still, the young man looks absolutely miserable. And frankly, she can’t blame him. This is painfully awkward.

Finally, curiosity wins out over hostility. Luke asks tentatively, “Was her name really Padme Skywalker? My mother’s name, I mean . . . “

“Yes.” Astral’s heart goes out to this poor motherless boy whose life to date has been riddled with lies. “She was called Padme Amidala Naberrie Skywalker. She was from Naboo. Your mother was a queen and a--”

“She was a queen?” shocked Luke interrupts. “I never knew that.”

“Oh, yes. She was very respected and widely admired. And she was very beautiful. Your father loved her dearly,” Astral asserts. “He mourned your mother for years. Her people mourned her too.”

Luke nods and Astral takes that as her cue to continue. She is trying to follow Lord Plagueis’ instructions to reveal the truth in order to promote trust and to stoke doubt.

And so, she muses, “It was a mésalliance in many ways, I suppose. Your mother was a queen, but your father was born a slave to the Hutt clan here on Tatooine.”

Did Luke know that? Did he know that his father was born the lowest of the low? He didn’t. Again, the boy looks shocked. Apparently, that part was left out of the family history as well.

“A Jedi Master passing through Mos Espa recognized your father’s potential. He wagered for your father’s freedom over a podrace. He was owned by an alien who ran a junkshop.” Luke Skywalker blinks in disbelief and Astral has to concede, “It’s an amazing story, I know. But it’s true. Anakin Skywalker,” she uses her husband’s forbidden birth name, “was ten years old when the Jedi essentially bought him. They thought he was too old to begin the training . . . and too independent probably. Initially, they turned him away.” 

“I don’t want to hear this,” Luke abruptly shuts her down even though his face betrays all of his curiosity. He does and he doesn’t want to know about Darth Vader. 

“You need to hear this,” Astral persists. “There is a person in that black suit. There is a man beneath that mask—"

“He’s a monster!” Luke lashes out in anger for the first time.

Astral knows it’s not really directed at her. She counters calmly, “That’s not fair.”

“He’s a monster!” young Luke doubles down with righteous certainty.

“Never let him hear you say that,” Astral warns in a low voice. “Darth Vader can be a monster. I’ve seen that side of him. He will show you that side of him, if you call him that. But there is more to Lord Vader than violence--”

She doesn’t get to finish. Her Jedi stepson now accuses, “He blew up Alderaan! Your home planet, right?”

“He didn’t make that decision. Moff Tarkin did.”

“He was there! He did nothing to stop it or to oppose it! He just watched those people die.”

That’s true, but like so much of Darth Vader, it’s not the whole truth. You cannot understand the man without understanding the full context of his decisions. “It wouldn’t have changed anything if he did object,” Astral explains sadly. “Your father opposed the Death Star almost from the beginning. And he did oppose Alderaan directly to the Emperor afterwards. I was there. I watched the Emperor nearly kill him for it. Luke, you shouldn’t assume that what you see on the holonet is the complete truth. There are sides to your father—"

“I watched him kill Ben Kenobi,” Luke hurls yet another accusation. “He struck him down in cold blood! It was an execution.”

Luke needs to get past his hero worship of that particular dead Jedi. There will be no common ground between father and son where that topic is concerned. So, Astral starts explaining the other point of view. “Obi-Wan Kenobi is the reason your father wears the mask and the suit. He left Lord Vader in agony, burned and maimed, and walked away. He didn’t even have the courage to kill him because he is the Cho--”

“Ben was a great man,” Luke informs her hotly. It’s a true argument now.

“Maybe so,” Astral allows, “but not everything he did was good. Just like your father is not all bad. Luke, there are two sides to every story, and you need to hear—"

He cuts her off. “Look maybe you mean well, but you are blinded by your allegiance to the Empire. It clouds your perspective.”

The words come out rather condescending, which doesn’t sit well with Astral coming from a man so young and ignorant of the full truth. She argues back, “Have you ever considered that your hero Kenobi had an allegiance and an agenda too? He stole you as a baby. That’s right—stole! Raised you in obscurity in the Rim totally ignorant of your family and the Force. Fed you lies and sent you to confront your own father without confessing his deceit. You are the instrument of the Jedi’s revenge! You are being used!”

“Jedi don’t seek revenge,” Luke informs her coolly. His gaze is firm and his tone is quelling as he claims the moral high ground. “It’s the Sith who are vengeful.”

Astral takes a deep breath, lowers her volume, and takes the heat from her voice. She got a bit shrill there for a moment, mostly because she is so invested in this situation. Plus, she feels her chances of getting through to her stepson slipping away fast. “Your father doesn’t want revenge.” She wants to make this very clear. “He wants you to come home.”

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Luke Skywalker responds curtly.

“Please come home,” she persists. It comes out a half whisper, for her voice is now surprisingly choked. “Come away with me now. Leave everything else behind. Come and let’s try to work things out. No one will make you stay, I promise. But please give your father and I a chance.”

Luke Skywalker’s face hardens. He is unmoved. “I had a home. Less than four miles from here is where I grew up. The farm is destroyed now. All my aunt and uncle’s hard work is gone. They’re gone too. Destroyed by the Empire.”

Yes, she knows. The Lars homestead was the second set of coordinates she was given for where to find Luke Skywalker. “I’m sorry,” she replies weakly, feeling more and more like this meeting is an absolute failure. She has a new appreciation now for how quickly things went bad on Bespin. This boy is justifiably aggrieved for how he has been treated and that was before he had his tyrant Sith father to blame it on.

Luke vents now, raising his voice again. “Their lives were cheap and expendable! Like Alderaan! Like so many other victims of the Empire—“

Astral interrupts, “They were never meant to die.” Luke thinks their deaths were intentional, but they weren’t. “The local guy here overstepped. Your father was very angry when he learned what happened. He killed the guy in charge for what he did to his stepbrother—“

It’s the wrong thing to say. “Killing is what he’s best at, isn’t it?” Luke jeers. He looks miserable about it, too. His eyes are so full of pain. It’s clear that even after a year, the loss of his aunt and uncle cuts deep. Luke now looks askance at her and demands, “Are you a killer as well?”

Is that a serious question? Astral disavows, “No!”

Luke looks dubious and Astral fesses up. “Well, I did kill someone once. But it was in self-defense!” she yelps. “The Emperor sent an assassin to kill your father, but the guy found me first hiding in the closet. I shot him.” Her face is hot and her eyes are watery at the memory. “I’m not proud of it . . . but I shot him. He would have killed me. Your father wouldn’t have gotten there in time to save me. There were too many of them. So, I saved myself.”

Finally, it seems, she has Luke’s attention again. He’s doing more than just reacting. He is listening. “The Emperor sent assassins against Darth Vader?”

Astral nods slowly. “It’s kill or be killed among the Sith. The Emperor neither respects nor trusts your father.” Again, she implores her stepson to look beyond what he knows. “Luke, don’t believe everything you see and hear on the holonet. Your father might be the poster child for the Empire, but behind closed doors, he’s something of a Rebel.”

It’s an incredible thing to claim and Luke Skywalker is, of course, incredulous. “Oh, come on! He slaughtered half the Alliance on Hoth.”

“He was hoping to find you.”

“So he could recruit me?“

“So he could save you,” Astral corrects.

“The only person I need saving from is him!” Luke snaps back.

But Astral doesn’t back down. In fact, she steps forward now to warn, “You haven’t met his boss. Darth Sidious is a cruel, unreasonable, power mad killer. Many of the sins your father has done, he did at the Emperor’s behest.”

“He chose to serve him.”

“Maybe so, but now he wants out. But he can’t do it alone. Together, you could do it,” Astral urges. “With his insider knowledge and your ideas for reform—“

“Together we could put Vader on the Imperial throne? Is that it?” Luke sneers. His young face is twisted and ugly with scorn.

“You’d be there with him,” Astral argues quietly.

“I don’t want that. I want democracy,” Luke proclaims.

And that’s not a dealbreaker. Astral starts bargaining. “He would bring back the Senate.“

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. Your mother was a Senator.”

“She was?” Luke looks surprised and pleased. For a second, his guarded expression drops and Astral sees the earnest, likable young man from the pictures. But then, his eyes narrow with suspicion. “Wait—before you said she was a queen.”

“She was both. Look up Senator Padme Amidala Naberrie from Naboo. She’s all over the holonet opposing the Separatist Crisis trying to keep the Republic together as it crumbled.”

“Oh.”

Astral now asserts again, “Your father is far more moderate than his public persona suggests.”

“Well, I don’t believe it.”

“He has to appear the way he does. If he doesn’t, the Emperor will kill him,” Astral states it bluntly. Luke needs to understand the stakes.

But the threat of death doesn’t impress Luke Skywalker who would rather jump into an abyss than join his father. This boy would gladly be the martyr his father refuses to be. He lifts his chin and declares, “Better to die than to live as a servant of the Sith poisoned by the Dark Side.”

Astral didn’t come here to debate the Force. She quickly abandons that line of argument. “Fine. Look, this doesn’t have to be about politics. And it’s not about the Force—“

“Of course, it is. He wants me to join him on the Dark Side.“

“You don’t have to join him.”

“Of course, I do. He’s a Sith! This is about power!”

“No,” she counters staunchly, “it is about family.”

Framing it that way seems to perplex young Luke.

Astral presses her advantage. “He wants a son, not an Apprentice. He will welcome you home to our family. Come with me now and let’s try to undo the damage done by the Sith and the Jedi. And . . . by your father’s clumsiness at Bespin,” she adds awkwardly. “That wasn’t his best moment,” she glosses over the violent events with a huge understatement. “Luke, your father is fine with you training as a Jedi. He wants you to learn both sides of the Force. And he doesn’t care about your Rebel politics. He was privately glad that you blew up the Death Star.”

Luke shakes his head. “I don’t believe it. This is about him getting help to kill his Master. It’s a classic Sith power play.”

Too late, Astral sees she should never have raised the issue of deposing the Emperor. But she thought it might resonate with her stepson the Rebel who plots revolution with Mon Mothma. So, Astral gamely tries to focus on the larger point. “This is about reuniting our family. Luke, you were stolen from him. Hidden from him.”

But the young man rejects that narrative. “The Jedi were protecting me. Ben Kenobi gave his life so I could escape Vader.”

“And to make sure that you wouldn’t learn the truth!” Astral asserts. “Don’t you see how manipulated you are? How Kenobi and others close to you were in on it all along? Had your father not told you the truth, would you even know it now?” she challenges.

Young Luke shifts his weight a little uncomfortably. But still, he maintains, “They were saving me.”

“The only person you need saving from is the Emperor,” Astral contends. “Luke, do not underestimate the power of the Emperor. He will kill you if he gets the chance. Come home and we will plot a strategy to keep you safe. That matters more than politics and the Force.” Righteous Luke looks unconvinced, but Astral preempts him with another plea, “Come home. Let’s try to be a family,” she coaxes.

“I told you--I had a home. It’s gone. I had a family. They’re gone too.”

“Luke, we’re still here,” Astral counters softly. “Give us a chance. When you and your father get to know each other, you might find that you have more in common than you think.”

The boy is offended by this notion. “I’m nothing like him.”

Astral takes in the stubborn youth with the mechanical hand and silently disagrees. For surely Luke Skywalker is another version of the self-described cocksure Jedi trainee his father had once been. The kind of upstart, inexperienced but valiant soul who took on Count Dooku and lost an arm when the turncoat Sith Lord schooled him on saber practice. Anakin Skywalker and Luke Skywalker are young heroes both, she knows. And a big streak of Anakin Skywalker still lives in Darth Vader. The Emperor hasn’t chased it away. 

And that is the real message she wants Luke to hear. “There is good in Darth Vader. It’s not hard to see, if you will only look.“

But her stepson refuses to relent. “Look, Lady, I don’t know who you are or where you come from, but you’re not my family. He is not my family,” the boy announces with hushed vehemence. 

“He will be, if you let him.” Astral holds out her hand even as she digs in her heels. She can be stubborn too. “Come with me now. Let’s go to him.”

“I’m here to rescue Han.”

“Okay. Then come after you rescue your friend. Luke, your father has so much to tell you . . . so much to teach you.”

“I have a teacher.”

“Not like Darth Vader, you don’t. Your father has been a Jedi and he has been a Sith—he has a perspective that no one else has. You would do well to listen to him.”

But the young man has heard enough. “Look, maybe you mean well . . . you seem like you mean well . . .” Luke reaches up to run his fake hand through his hair as he exhales in frustration. “But you’re wasting your time.” He shakes his head. He is resolved. “I’ll never join him.”

“Do you understand the chance you are being given?” Astral is not sure Luke does. “Together, you and your father could bring peace, freedom, justice, and security to the galaxy. You could make things the way you want them to be—"

“I’ll never join him.”

“—and then, there will be no more Death Stars and no more Alderaans, no more war and no more Rebellion. No more fear and hate and suffering caused by the Emperor—"

“I told you--I’ll never join him!”

“You could be a hero for all ages. The Light Side Jedi who joins the Dark Side Sith to bring balance to the Force—"

“I’ll never join him!” Luke’s refusal is not loud, but it is intense.

“But he needs you. He can’t do it without you. Help your father to help us all,” she pleads.

But Luke Skywalker refuses to entertain the possibilities. He’s too certain that he is being misled. “The Sith lie. They deceive,” he mutters, giving Astral another suspicious look. “If you believe all this, then he has deceived you as well.”

Astral resents that remark and so her rejoinder comes out a bit sharp. “The one who has been lied to is you.” She makes a face at her own intemperate tone and immediately tries to begin anew. “Don’t be afraid of who you are. We only want to help you.” Luke opens his mouth to issue another automatic rejection but Astral lifts a hand to forestall him. “I know that this is sudden and confusing. And after what happened at Bespin, I can’t blame you for doubting us. Please just think it over.”

Now again, Luke shifts his weight uncomfortably. The poor guy looks lost. The comfort zone of his Jedi Rebel allegiance has been challenged in a fundamental way by the reveal of his enemy father. Is that why Luke is clinging so hard to his stance of rejection? Because he fears his understanding of his place in life will be negated by the truth if it is revealed in its entirety?

“Don’t be afraid of who you are,” Astral repeats softly.

“It’s time for you to leave,” Luke replies as politely as possible under the circumstances.

Watching him now, Astral is reminded of the intelligence report Lord Vader has on his son. The report that speaks of an affable, hardworking farm boy who got along well with all of his classmates. If she squints, Astral can still see that kid beneath today’s hardnosed posturing. It’s buried beneath the fear that an evil Sith has appeared to steal his fragile Jedi soul. It’s hidden behind radical Rebel politics that are a reaction to terrible loss. For try as he might to be harsh, this young man is nice. Maybe even gentle. War, death, and injury haven’t taken those qualities from Luke Skywalker . . . yet. It makes Astral wonder if Anakin Skywalker was ever the nice guy like his son appears to be. For a brief second, her mind flashes back to the portrait of the Jedi General who her husband spoke of like he was an entirely different person.

Luke’s prod interrupts her reverie. “I’d like for you to leave.”

Fearful that she has made no headway, Astral concedes, “Alright. I’ll go.” She digs in her pocket now for a datafile. “I have something else for you besides the salve.”

  
Luke rejects it immediately. “No, thank you.” 

  
But Astral holds out the datafile insistently. “Take it, please. Use it.” 

“What is it?”

“It’s a map of Jabba the Hutt’s palace where your friend is kept. You want to rescue him, right? I have it on good authority that the Hutt is hiring on new guards. Get one of your friends on the payroll so they will be on the inside when you strike.”

Only half convinced, Luke nonetheless gingerly accepts the datafile. “Is this a setup?” As usual, the youth is anticipating a trap. He doesn’t trust her, but that’s understandable given the circumstances. It’s also precisely why Darth Plagueis had sent Astral with the map to the crime lord’s palace. 

“Why are you helping me?” he wonders aloud.

“I want to help you,” she answers, reiterating her earlier point, “we’re family.” 

This time, Luke makes no reply. He just turns the small datafile over in his hand.

“Goodbye.” Astral takes her leave. But she pauses at the doorway and half turns. “I am not giving up on you,” she vows. She will choose hope in the face of futility. And maybe that’s foolish, but if there is no hope, then what is there? Astral now promises to Luke Skywalker, “I will be back two weeks from today. If for some reason I’m not here, it’s because I was prevented from coming.”

“By him?”

“Maybe. Or by the Emperor. Darth Sidious fears you. He fears the Skywalkers.”

Luke catches the use of the plural. “There are more of you?”

“More of us,” she corrects him gently. “And, yes. There are more.” She declines to elaborate. She’ll keep him guessing a little. It will give him a reason to come back to meet her in two weeks. So, Astral just nods over at Luke Skywalker and bids him, “May the Force be with you,” before she heads for her parked speeder.

And maybe that’s the wrong thing to say, she worries on her ride back. Perhaps Luke will interpret her use of the Old Republic Jedi blessing as insincere pandering. That’s not how it’s meant, of course. The old Sith Darth Plagueis told her the very same thing two hours ago. Snoke wants god the Force to be on his side, much like Luke Skywalker probably does as well. Except Luke is thinking of the Force in terms of Dark Side and Light Side, whereas she and Snoke want him to think of it as being on the side of the Skywalkers.

But for all Snoke’s claims that the Skywalkers are the first family of the Force, something doesn’t seem quite right to Astral. For why would the Force so mistreat its own clan of Chosen Ones? Shouldn’t they be luckier than most? They are certainly more powerful than average people. But also, more troubled. Astral can’t help but think that the Force is not all-powerful and all-knowing or things would never have become such a tangled mess. She rejects the assertion that recent events are fate unfolding by design. No one would plan this conflict. It’s inefficient and unnecessary.

More and more, Astral thinks that the Skywalker family struggle is what happens when human frailty meets the power of the Force. That this discord is the result of the free will of humanity’s demigods bumping up against each other as they and their ideas jostle for dominance. Luke, Lord Vader, and Lord Plagueis are all endowed with the magical Force. Yet each too in their own way is burdened by romantic ideals and burning with ambition. And actually, that understanding of the situation encourages Astral. For if this tragic mess isn’t entirely the will of the Force, then there is hope that a Force blind nobody like herself might have some chance to make things better. 


	31. chapter 31

Vader can’t sleep. He sits in his medical capsule turning his old Jedi lightsaber over in his metal hands. He never thought he would see the weapon again after Mustafar. And then, decades later, he deemed it forever lost on Bespin. Except it’s not lost. Like the rest of his complicated backstory, he cannot ever seem to put it permanently behind him. For as always, his past keeps rising up to become his present.

He burned Luke’s severed hand that came with the sword. He didn’t have a better solution and he didn’t want to take the risk that somehow Sheev would find it and use it for one of his cloning experiments. And then Luke 2.0 or Luuke or whoever would be rambling around the galaxy in a few years’ time. Vader wouldn’t put that kind of stunt past his ghoulish Master.

He contemplates trying to reach out telepathically to his son again in the Force. That seemed to work immediately after Bespin, perhaps because of their physical proximity. But it hasn’t worked since. So instead, Vader puts the sword aside and starts swiping through the intel photos of his estranged son. This long ago became a nightly habit but it has taken on new meaning in the wake of his failure at Bespin. Now, instead of imagining his first meeting with his long-lost child, Vader spends his late nights imagining all the things he wishes he would have done differently. For if Luke didn’t consider him to be an enemy before, he surely does now. Worse still, it’s more than a political conflict. It’s personal.

And that unhappy truth is what has tempered Vader’s anger at Astral. Because putting the very real safety concerns to one side, Vader has to concede that he needs a game changer. Luke needs to meet a new face—and a non-threatening face—to plead Vader’s case. And by default, that means Astral. Having skulking old Darth Plagueis corner the kid in some Sith tomb certainly won’t help matters.

Astral’s mission to Tatooine is very Padme of her, Vader has decided. His late wife pulled stunts like this regularly. She took matters into her own hands—foolishly at times. Astral is much more measured than Padme, as a rule. Astral is inclined to be cautious by nature, which was what sent her running from his Mustafar castle. Vader didn’t chase Astral to Coruscant since her reaction was a very rational decision. But once she came back into his life and Plagueis started involving her in his plots, Astral has been dragged into the mess of the Skywalkers. Maybe she was indeed a volunteer to meet Luke. That’s a possibility. But Vader strongly suspects that damn Muun talked her into this.

Sly Plagueis had distracted him with their meeting on Naboo while he sent Astral to do the real work. Vader fell for it, of course. He never expected that Astral would be the second pitch to Luke. But maybe that’s why Plagueis sent her after he bungled things at Bespin. Because she’s so utterly ordinary for this sort of thing. With no Force, no combat skills, and no baggage in the Jedi-Sith fight. How she ever managed to kill that Inquisitor at his castle is still a mystery. That must have been Astral’s one Mary Sue moment.

Unlike Padme, Astral is not a natural leader. She’s more the foot soldier type. She’s also not given to speeches or ideology. Thanks to her art world background, she tends to be more intuitive than linear thinking, even if she is usually pragmatic. Astral also won’t lecture you or pick a fight. Vader has probably only heard her raise her voice once or twice. And, frankly, that approach can be very disarming. For while most everyone around him has strong opinions expressed loudly and often, Astral speaks softly but effectively. She doesn’t lack for conviction even if she rarely insists. She doesn’t lack for bravery either, Vader has to admit. 

But Tatooine isn’t safe and never has been, especially for a woman alone. Astral could end up snatched by the slavers who traffic women across the galaxy for the Hutts. Or get captured by the sandpeople for their vengeful abuse on humankind. Or maybe just victimized by the various unsavory types who hang out in the Rim on the run from creditors or from the law. The more Vader thinks through the possibilities, the more alarmed he gets about her adventure to his home world.

But could she be successful? Astral’s been a secret bystander up until this point. She’s not burdened by the past decisions and prior conflicts that provoked this situation. Unlike himself, no one can say that any of this is Astral’s fault. That could make her an effective intermediary, he knows.

Beside him, Vader’s datapad buzzes to interrupt his brooding. It’s a message from Coruscant. Astral is back home. She’s safe and alone. Good. That’s a huge relief.

Vader immediately sends a message to the bridge. Time to get back to Coruscant ASAP. He needs to confront Astral in person. You don't yell at your wife about her treasonous exploits over a comlink. Plus, then he can get a briefing on Luke Skywalker. He’s dying to know what happened on Tatooine.

And so, many hours later, Vader is holed up in a crowded conference room at his Coruscant palace going through the motions of a deep dive analysis of the construction delays and supply shortages on the second Death Star project. It’s a pretext with two purposes. First, he’s pretending to investigate the problems he helped to create, making a record to justify assigning blame elsewhere. Second, he’s killing time before he can see Astral. An hour ago, Vader was ready to adjourn and send Vanee in a speeder to fetch her for dinner. But that’s when her surveillance tail reported that Astral had headed out to the opera. So, increasingly impatient Vader decided to continue his impromptu meeting a little longer.

The second string Moff Jerjerrod who has Tarkin’s role on the new project is annoying him with his ridiculously optimistic appraisal of the situation. Vader tolerates only about another half hour from that yes-man before he acts. Anticipation has made him overeager. Feeling equal parts anxious, stonewalled, and bored, Vader decides he’s tired of waiting and dispatches a squad of troopers to fetch Astral. It’s time to yell at her and hear about Luke. Then, they can move on to some strategic plotting over dinner and then the makeup sex.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Vader senses Astral’s presence before the troopers march her in. But when she actually appears, she does not disappoint. The column dress she wears is black velvet and it swishes slightly as she walks to outline the curve of her hip with each step. One arm is swathed in tight fabric to her fingertips. The other arm is completely bare. The one shoulder style is neither décolleté nor prudish. It’s somewhere in between. But it’s the most skin Vader has ever seen his wife bare in public.

Despite his intentions to play this cool, Vader does a double take as she walks in.

At his side, so does Jerjerrod, Vader notices. He lets it slide.

Over time, Vader has begun to understand Astral’s aesthetic. It’s sort of gravely glamorous. Often colorful, but never pretty. Usually simple and deceptively modest. For there is an almost intellectual sex appeal to her elegance. When it succeeds like tonight, Astral appears dauntingly expensive and decidedly authoritative. Currently, she is surrounded in the midst of heavily armored troopers but Astral still manages to appear more boss lady than prisoner. Like they are her honor guard and not men sent to collect her. Astral is very credible as Lady Vader right now, even if none in attendance know it.

Behind the mask, Vader smiles.

Her expression, however, hovers somewhere between fuming outrage and ladylike dignity. And she’s mad? Well, he’s mad too. He’s been worried sick over her since Plagueis revealed that she was Plan B to approach Luke. How dare she pull a stunt like that without consulting with him first. They’re married now and they are supposed to make important decisions together.

As Astral stands there glowering, more irked than intimidated, the lead trooper announces, “The woman who you requested, my Lord.”

The habitually nervous looking Jerjerrod does not appreciate the interruption. “What is this?”

Astral pipes up tartly. “That’s what I’d like to know. I’m missing the third act of _The Mandalorian_,” she informs the room. “It’s the last performance. I won’t get to hear Pre Vizla’s big aria now.”

Vader smirks as their audience blinks at her effrontery. Here they are planning the galaxy’s next war crime when a prisoner appears to complain about the inconvenience of missing the opera. But with Astral, it’s always art or music or literature. When she’s not committing treason, his wife lives in a cocoon of high culture that she takes very seriously. But Vader isn’t much for that sort of thing himself. He informs her, “The Death Watch were not heroes.”

“Maybe so, but they make an excellent chorus.” Astral is not concerned with the actual history, he knows, she’s focused on the opera plot. “Vizla is the hero. It’s the climax.”

“Spoiler alert—he dies,” Vader smirks behind the mask.

“Lord Vader—“ Moff Jerjerrod, like everyone else watching, fails to see the relevance of this conversation. It’s late and he and the rest want to wrap up the meeting and go home. But Vader’s suddenly having fun. This sort of reminds him of the many times he and Padme stood in the same room among others totally unaware of their relationship.

Astral’s eyes now alight on the Death Star hologram projected above the meeting table. “Is that what I think it is?” she half shrieks. It’s not her usual measured, composed tone. Her eyes are bulging.

“Yes,” Vader confirms, using the official euphemism for his Master’s super weapon, “It’s our latest subspace research facility.”

That sarcasm sets her off. Astral hisses, “It’s an abomination!”

“This is a secure meeting and she sounds like a Rebel,” the Moff reacts. The huffing man turns to him. “Who is this woman? Is she a Rebel? And why isn’t she cuffed?“

Astral answers for herself. “I might become a Rebel if you build another one.” Her normal temperate demeanor evaporates when it comes to the Death Star. Astral is passionate about her opposition. She points to the hologram. “That’s an abomination!”

“Then, you’ll be happy to know that it’s way behind schedule,” Vader counters as he rises to cross the room. He moves to loom over Astral as the squad of stormtroopers scatter like flies.

She lifts her chin. “Good.”

Nervous Jerjerrod is very troubled now. “She sounds like a Rebel.“

“She’s from Alderaan,” Vader explains. “But have no fear, she’ll need a few more flying lessons before she can blow up your new toy.“

No one in the room appreciates that line. They all shift uncomfortably in their seats. All except Astral who looks like he’s just issued a challenge.

Vader can’t resist needling the Moff, telling him, “Don’t be too proud of the technological terror you’re constructing. It’s only as good as its most vulnerable exhaust port.”

“The very existence of this project is top secret,” Jerjerrod frets. “My Lord, this isn’t something a prisoner should see.”

“She’s not a prisoner.” Vader now waves away the troopers. “That will be all.”

Astral takes that as her cue to leave as well. “Since I see you are busy on important matters, my Lord, I will meet you later.”

She turns to regally flounce from the room in her opera finery when he stops her in her tracks. “You are not dismissed.“

Astral half turns to raise an eyebrow. “I’m dismissing myself,” she informs him coolly. That’s her version of telling him to go to Hell. She really is pissed about the opera. Well . . . probably also about the progress on the Death Star as well. When it comes to superweapons, his wife might as well be a Rebel.

Well, tough. She can deal with it. “You can leave after we discuss how you liked Tatooine,“ Vader rumbles as he crosses his arms.

The comment has the desired quelling effect. Astral’s frosty attitude sort of deflates. She looks very guilty. “Er . . . How did you know—”

“Your co-conspirator told me.”

“He did??” she chokes.

“Of course, he did. How many times must I tell you to never trust a Sith? They betray you every time.”

Astral stiffens. “I‘d like to go back to the opera now.”

“That was very, very dangerous!” Vader thunders, waving a gloved finger in front of her nose.

“I know.” She lowers her eyes. 

Vader now gives full vent to his pent-up anger, momentarily forgetting his resolve to yell at her in private. But the stunt she pulled was ridiculously brazen. Does she know how worried he was? The group in the room looks on with lurid interest at the woman who dares to argue with Darth Vader. But no matter. They won’t overhear anything useful. He and Astral are both too savvy to give away any incriminating details.

“You should not have intervened! I will deal with this matter myself.” Luke Skywalker is his responsibility.

Astral placates him. “Yes, my Lord.”

It’s irritating. Moreover, the Force tells him it’s insincere. She’s wholly unrepentant. Just telling him what she thinks he wants to hear. Vader has spent the last three hours listening to the Death Star construction group do just that. He’s had enough of it. “You could have ended up in a Rebel prison cell. That was a foolish risk!” he roars.

“No, it wasn’t,” she grumbles under her breath. As usual, the louder he gets, the quieter she responds.

So, he growls again good and loud, “It was a foolish risk!”

This time, Astral raises her eyes and responds softly so only he can hear, “Maybe so, but you’re worth it, my Lord.”

Well, damn. That sort of steals the heat from his anger. She still doesn’t look the least bit contrite, but she does look very fetching. Her face upturned to his, her lips slightly parted, and her expression earnest. For a moment, Vader forgets he’s angry. But it’s a fleeting moment. He’s still plenty mad.

“Come,” he orders gruffly, grabbing for her upper arm as he propels her towards the exit. “I want to hear your report.” Vader pauses in the doorway and turns to address their onlookers. “We’re done here. Jerjerrod, send the followup to my staff. Commander Paulix,” he addresses the only competent officer in the room. She’s one of the few Imperial science officers who survived the trifecta of defeats on Eadu, Scarif, and the first Death Star. “Get me a new construction timetable for the reactor core. Something I can present to the Emperor for a status update.” Vader plans to prioritize the superlaser, even if completion of the rest of the station lags behind.

As soon as he and Astral step through the door into the hallway, she mutters, “I’d like you to stop arresting me in public places.” She gives his guiding hand on her arm a pointed look and he relinquishes his grip.

Still, he grumbles back, “How else do I get on your busy social calendar?”

“Try having Vanee tell me in advance that you’ll be in town.”

“This meeting wasn’t scheduled. The new weapon is very behind schedule.”

“Is that your doing?” she whispers hopefully.

“You know I can’t answer that. But now that the project is my responsibility, it needs to get back on track.”

“Oh,” she sighs.

He’s as keen on a new Death Star as she is. He reminds her, “I must obey my Master.”

She sighs again with much resignation. “I know.”

They jump the queue to commandeer an elevator and Vader waves everyone else away. Finally, they are alone. He turns to Astral. “Have dinner with me.“

She shoots him a look. “I thought I was here to get yelled at.”

“You are. We’re not done yet. But then I want you to stay.” This is their first fight as a married couple, he realizes. They’re still newlyweds. That means they definitely need to kiss and make up. So, he presses, “Stay with me tonight.”

“Oh, alright,” she relents easily. Astral has the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. Then they exit the elevator into a hallway of guards and personnel and their conversation must cease.

Only when they are in the interior private corridors of his Palace do they resume speaking. Astral wants to know, “How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine.”

“Does Dr. Levy think it’s fine? Or are you just telling me it’s fine?”

“It’s fine.”

“The young man I met on Tatooine told me the very same thing about his hand,” Astral reveals. “Apparently, it’s fine too.”

“It’s fine,” Vader gripes. He’s trying not to think about his son’s injury he caused.

Astral isn’t letting up. “When we get inside the egg, I want to see that shoulder first thing,” she orders. Yes, she’s very Lady Vader tonight with her haughty demeanor. But truthfully, he was hoping she would fuss over him.

Minutes later, they are alone in his medical pod and she’s got his mask, cape, and tunic off. Astral stands inspecting his shoulder, marveling at how well it has healed in a month. “You were right. It does look fine,” she decides as she runs a hand lightly over the still pink scar. “How is the rest of you?”

“Everything works about as well as it always does.” Meaning, of course, that he’s his usual wrecked self.

Astral face softens as she looks down on him seated. She impulsively bends to drop a kiss on his forehead. The gesture is more motherly than loverlike, but he likes it. “I’m not asking about your health,” she prods him. She cups his face with her hands and searches his eyes. “How are you holding up?” Astral knows by now that the mental state of the Chosen One is as problematic as his physical condition.

He answers truthfully. “I’m better now that you’re here.” Then, he remembers he’s mad and shoots her a glare. “You gave me an awful scare.”

“I’m sorry.” She drops another kiss on his head.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?”

“No. But keep going.” He tugs her down to land unceremoniously in his lap. “Kiss me for real and then I will yell at you.”

Now, it’s her turn to glare.

He ignores it. “Welcome home, Mrs. Skywalker,” he smirks before he plants a kiss on her. “Now that’s over with, tell me about Luke.” Curiosity has won out over anger. He’s dying to know about his son. Plus, at this point, Vader is more relieved than angry. Relieved that Astral is safe, relieved that she is here, and relieved that she did in fact find Luke.

Astral stands up and moves to lean against his desk, facing him. Shaking her head, she exhales and admits, “Snoke says it went well . . . but I’m not so sure . . .”

“Smoke? Who is Smoke?” He’s not following.

“Snoke,” she corrects. “He’s the Prince. I mean, Lord Plagueis. It’s his nickname.”

“Snoke?” He has a nickname? “Snoke?” Vader squints at Astral. Snoke sounds like a child’s name for something they can’t pronounce. “That’s terrible. How many aliases does that guy have?” Plagueis used to be Hego Damask, the head of the Banking Clan during the years leading up to the Clone Wars. And Vader knows that the Prince Venamis ruse is a nod to the rival Apprentice Plagueis once defeated. But Snoke? At least, it’s not Snokey or Snoker or Sneaky or Squeaky. No Dark Lord should be named Squeaky. It’s beneath the dignity of the Sith. But then, Vader remembers that some people still call him Annie, so maybe he doesn’t have the machismo high ground on this issue.

Well, whatever. Back to Luke. “Tell me more,” he prods. “How is my son?”

“Angry. Confused.” Astral meets his eyes. “I guess that is to be expected.”

“How’s his hand?”

“He wears a fake flesh covering of some kind.”

Vader nods. “I never bothered with that. It feels like wearing two gloves. You trade off the sensation for a better appearance.” He frowns now. “The Rebellion probably doesn’t have the latest medical care.”

“I offered him help from Dr. Levy.”

“Let me guess--he declined.”

“Yes.” Astral tucks a stray strand of red gold hair back behind her ear. Her face portrays all of her dejection. It’s clear that while she’s unrepentant about her brazen interference, she also feels she has disappointed him by making little headway. “Luke was wearing black,” she dutifully reports. “I didn’t expect that.”

Neither did Vader. “Like father, like son . . . I guess. That’s probably our only similarity,” he sighs. Aside from bionic limbs now.

“Actually, I saw a lot of you in him. The younger you.”

Vader grunts. “You never met the younger me.” 

The corners of her lips turn up slightly. “I met him first in a painting. And I still see him now and then . . .”

Vader looks up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She meets his eyes again. “It means you’re still the hero . . . even all these years later.”

“Hardly.” He brushes off the comment. All along, Astral has been determined to see the best in him. He worries sometimes that she deludes herself. He’s a Sith Lord, after all. “Well . . . what did you offer him besides Levy?”

“A home. A family.”

Not the Dark Side and the galaxy. This was a very different pitch apparently. “And?” Vader prompts, knowing full well how it will end—more rejection.

“He’s not ready for any of that yet,” Astral replies slowly. It’s clear that she has spent a lot of time reflecting on the conversation because she sounds thoughtful. “He is very angry. And afraid, I think.”

“That kid doesn’t fear anything,” Vader retorts sourly, recalling how his boy had marched right up to him to light a sword. Then later, he had calmly leapt into a bottomless abyss. Luke Skywalker is either reckless or courageous. Maybe a little of both. Like his Jedi father before him, Vader recalls ruefully.

Astral disagrees. “He’s very afraid of you.”

“I never should have hurt him—”

“It’s not the violence or the Empire he’s afraid of,” Astral clarifies. “I think he’s afraid of the truth,” she asserts.

And geez, it’s like talking to Yoda, she’s so obtuse tonight. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he complains again.

“He does and he doesn’t want to know about you.” Astral looks a bit sheepish now. “Snoke wanted me to tell him about you. So, I tried . . . ”

Vader groans. “What exactly did you tell him?”

She hesitates, and now Vader is really worried about how he has been portrayed. “Well?”

“I told him that you’re more than what he sees on the holonet.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms. “I told him that the Emperor has made you do a lot of bad things but you’re not bad.”

He scowls and his eyes narrow. “So you made me look weak? Controlled by Sheev?“

“No.”

“So I’m the chump who got duped into flipping Sith?” he bristles. “The fool who went to the Dark Side to save his wife and to save the Republic but he lost them both?”

“No.”

“Then I’m just a failure, is that it?” he jeers. “The Chosen One who couldn’t make it as a Jedi and ended up a substandard Sith?”

“No.” She must see how wounded his ego is because she’s flirting again now. Astral pushes off the desk to stand above him again. She has both hands resting lightly on his shoulders as she leans down as if confiding a secret. “I made you look slyly good. Subversively moderate.”

He makes a face. “There is no deep state in the Empire. Not the way you think.” Not the way she hopes.

“Sure there is. It’s at the highest levels.“ Again, her voice drops to a whisper. “It’s the Apprentice himself,” she answers, dropping another light kiss on his forehead. “Admit it, you’re a secret, sort of Lefty,” she teases.

“Is that what you told Luke? Please tell me you did not tell Luke that.”

“It’s true.”

Again, he scowls. “So now, I’m a Rebel? That’s a stretch.”

“Then what were you doing in that conference room tonight?“ Astral challenges.

Well, she may have a point. But no longer. “I’m not going to get away with scuttling the new weapon much longer. Now that I’m the one in charge, I’m going to need to show progress.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I know you’ll find some way to handle the situation. You won’t let it come to Alderaan again.”

He hopes not. Vader now slants hopeful eyes up her direction. “So . . . did Luke believe you? About me, I mean . . . “

“No,” she replies sadly. “He wants to believe the worst of you.”

“Can you blame him?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Astral answers, “I think it’s easier for him to understand you as the bad guy. It puts him firmly in the good guy role.”

“I knew this would be a failure,” Vader sighs. He exhales long and hard. “What else did you talk about?” he grumbles.

“We didn’t talk about the Force or the Jedi. I told him you didn’t want him for an Apprentice. You want him for a son.”

Vader nods.

She continues, “Basically, I asked him to come home. He doesn’t have to join you on the Dark Side or conspire against the Emperor. He just has to be a part of our family.”

There she goes again with talk of family. “What family?” he wants to know.

She answers like he fears. “You, me, Snoke, Luke. Maybe someday your daughter too.”

“Plagueis isn’t our family,” Vader gripes, shooting her a look of reproach. “He’s not my father. The Force is my father.” Astral has her head turned by that wily Muun. She shouldn’t trust that guy. He’s dangerous.

Astral now resumes leaning back against his desk. She looks down a moment before she next volunteers, “Luke hoped I was his mother . . .”

Oh. Astral looks wistful suddenly and Vader senses it has nothing to do with Luke.

She looks away. “I had to tell him that I wasn’t his mother . . . that his mother is dead . . .”

“What did you tell him about Padme?”

“That she was a queen and a Senator from Naboo. That the Emperor killed her to hurt you and maybe to try to kill Luke too.”

“That’s it?”

“I said that you loved her deeply and mourned her for years.”

Uh oh. “Did you tell him that I tried to—"

“No. I didn’t want to speak of the Force. That’s above my pay grade.”

Good. Luke might be scared by the Dark art of resurrection. And, well, Vader doesn’t need his kid to know that he failed at that trick. He doesn’t want the boy to realize just how diminished his father’s Force powers are. He wants Luke to respect him.

“Did you tell him about Plagueis?”

“No. He asked me not to tell him.”

“Good.”

“What about his sister?”

She shakes her head. “Snoke wanted me to stay focused on you and to highlight all the ways that Luke has been lied to.” Astral muses a moment. “He listened for a bit, but he didn’t trust me. I’m not sure how much of what I said really sunk in. I gave him some of the doctor’s salve for his hand. And also, a map to the Hutt’s headquarters.”

“Who gave you that? Plagueis?”

She nods. “He wants to promote trust. Snoke says to let Luke think it over. He said the meeting was mostly about creating doubt. That he has to be ready to hear the truth.”

Vader agrees with that assessment. “He wasn’t ready to hear it from me. So . . . how did you leave things with him?”

“I’m going back to Tatooine next week.”

What?? “You are not!” Vader launches to his feet. “I’ll go!” he announces. She is not going back to Tatooine.

“No.” Astral digs in her heels.

They’ve been over this already. “It’s too dangerous!”

“I’ll be fine. Lord Plagueis has men to protect me.”

No, thanks. “I will protect you—by going myself.”

“You can’t,” she informs him bluntly. “My Lord, if Luke so much as sees an Imperial cruiser in orbit, he won’t show for the meeting. As it is, he may not show to meet me.”

“Because he doesn’t trust you?”

“Yes . . . I guess,” she concedes. “But mostly because he doesn’t trust what I told him about you.” Astral shifts her weight nervously as he waits for her explanation. She awkwardly reveals in an especially small voice, “He thinks you have deceived me.”

Luke might not be far off, Vader knows. Astral has always looked for the good in him. She doesn’t exactly look away from the bad stuff, but he knows she tends to rationalize it. And, well, there are some good rationales for what he does. But Vader is not blind to the fact that his wife is his biggest apologist. She’s the head cheerleader of Team Vader. From the beginning, her hopefulness is what drew him to her. For while the galaxy at large hates him and his own son rejects him, Astral accepts him.

She’s seen him kill, she’s seen him cry, she’s seen him fail. She knows his ugly past and all the details of his infirmities. She also knows exactly how trapped he is as the Apprentice. So what does she get out of their relationship? Sure, he gives her love, but he mostly gives her danger. He’s never around either. They’ve been married a month and this is their first night together since the wedding. They are so arm’s length that he basically had to arrest her to get her here tonight. And so, in many ways, his second marriage feels even more doomed to fail than his first. Because now there’s a lot more at stake than just his career as a Jedi and his wife’s Senate reelection. You can’t quit the Sith and his Master has already threatened to kill Astral. And that’s not counting the risks of plotting treason to ally with his Rebel son. Plus, who knows what that wildcard Muun is really up to?

Why does Astral love a broken man like himself? She could do much better. Vader knows he’s a shadow of his former self physically and in the Force. He was defeated on Mustafar decades ago and he never really recovered. Sure, he’s still alive but that’s more stubbornness than anything else. He’s always been a bit subversive. These days, he mostly lives to quietly thwart his Master. Still, he’s nowhere near as effective as Astral believes. But look at her now—she’s staring up at him like he’s the hero. Like he’s the handsome, young dashing Jedi he once was, not the yellow-eyed, bald and burned half-droid monster he has become. Yes, Astral is deceived, Vader thinks as he pulls her to him. She is deceived and he won’t be the one to disabuse her. He’s simply too selfish. He needs her love too much to push her away.

So, Sith that he is, he presses his advantage to shore up her support. “I have never lied to you,” he rumbles softly.

Her chin bobs. “I know. In time,” Astral assures him, “Luke will see the real you. When he understands the entirety of the situation, he will see how complex it is. One day, he will understand,” she says with more hope than conviction. “And then, he will see you like I do. You,” Astral tells him firmly, her palms resting on his bare chest, “you are the man the galaxy needs right now. You can bring the change to fix things. We don’t need a revolution, we just need a course correction and new leadership.”

“He’ll never join me.”

“He might. Or,” Astral ventures boldly, “you could join him.”

What?? “Not a chance.”

“Does it matter what the semantics are? Who cares who joins who? If you join together, you and Luke could end the Rebellion and chart a new path for the Empire—”

“There’s no compromise in that kid. He’s a zealot.” Bespin proved that.

“It’s mostly because he’s lost,” Astral argues. “Luke’s clinging to his Rebel identity because it’s the only thing he has.” And that’s a predicament Vader can relate to. He understands what it means to become someone new once you have lost everything.

“You think your best days are behind you, but what if they’re not?” Astral challenges. “What if this chance with Luke is why it all happened? Because for you to bring balance, you first had to break with the Jedi and then experience for yourself the problems with the Sith? My Lord, what if you haven’t failed at all? What if you haven’t even started?”

She’s so beguiling in her earnestness, even if Vader suspects she is parroting ideas from Plagueis. This all smacks of Darth Plagueis. But it perfectly fits with Astral as well, for she wants so much to make him the hero. And, well, Vader would be lying if he said the idea didn’t resonate with him. He has been searching for years now for a way to give his mistakes and suffering meaning. Could the Force be giving him the motivation he needs to balance the Force with the reemergence of Plagueis and the surprise discovery of his son?

“Let me go back to Tatooine,” she wheedles. “Let me do this for you.” And when she puts it like that, Vader can’t say no. Damn, if she’s half as effective persuading Luke as she is persuading him now, Astral might actually succeed in negotiating an alliance. “Let me do this,” she persists again.

Vader answers with a kiss. He’s too much a Sith not to be turned on by a beautiful woman urging him to unseat his Master. And, well, he’s also still too much a Jedi not to be moved by the goal of saving the galaxy. Fuck, he needs to let go of this either/or religious mindset. That’s long been the problem with the way the Force is understood. The problem is that he doesn’t yet have an alternative. But who cares? He needs to stop thinking and start feeling. He now commits himself to the easy task of seducing Astral.

Except tonight, it’s not so easy. He needs this, he really needs this. He’s so stressed out. Riddled with guilt and failure over Bespin, worried for Luke, worried too for Astral. Also annoyed by his dressing down from Darth Plagueis and frustrated by his inability to reach his son in the Force. And that‘s not counting his day job to put down the Rebellion that he is kind of, sort of sympathetic to plus all his new Death Star II busywork. Vader knows he is anxious and overworked, as usual. Sex is just the diversion he needs tonight. But unfortunately, his body is not cooperating.

Fuck, this is humiliating. Astral is here to cheer him up, but he can’t get it up. Sexual frustration is nothing new. He spent two decades as a lonely widower. But to be in this position in bed with his beautiful and willing new wife is especially galling. His problem isn’t lack of opportunity now. It’s lack of performance.

This turns out to be one of those situations where trying harder doesn’t yield results. After some determined foreplay, he relents. Defeated, Vader sighs as he rolls off of Astral and glares at the ceiling. “I’m too tired.” Is this his middle age showing or just his wrecked body failing him again? Some groom he is. The honeymoon is most definitely over.

She takes it gracefully. “Shhhh . . . Just hold me.”

She wants to cuddle but he wants to do the deed. “We’ll do this tomorrow morning,” he promises. He’ll be good to go in the morning. He still wakes up ready to go in the morning.

“Just hold me,” Astral requests as she tugs him closer. She assures him, “This is good,” but he knows it’s not.

She soon falls asleep, but he lies awake ruminating over this fresh embarrassment. It’s a bitter joke that the Empire’s most famous tough guy Darth Vader is weak. Neither the commanding presence he once was on the battlefield nor the powerful decisionmaker he purports to be. For while his responsibilities are many, his discretion does not extend to the things that truly matter. And maybe that’s what it means to be number two, but he’s damned tired of being the Apprentice.

Astral knows it, too. It’s part of her motivation to bring home Luke, Vader knows.

Could he really be the man for these troubled times? He’s the only begotten son of the Force, and yet he is a man like any other man in all things. Most especially in sin and shortcomings. He’s weak in body and spirit, morally flawed, and ideologically ambiguous. Those qualities don’t strike Vader as the benevolent strongman leader the galaxy will rally around to replace Darth Sidious. Vader worries he is too polarizing of a figure to unify the Rebels with the more moderate, reasonable types in the Empire. But he does appreciate her vote of confidence. The Force may—or may not—have forsaken him. Padme certainly did. But Astral, he knows, will not.

She is so good for him. He suspected that from their first days at the castle, but it has proven true in time. With Astral, he has found the intimacy he needs. She’s his bedmate for romance and his co-conspirator for treason. She’s also unquestionably loyal, with no particular agenda other than their happiness together. That’s what motivated her trip to Tatooine, he knows. She did that for him. Because she knew that he alone could not fix the mistakes of Bespin.

Vader can’t help but be reminded of Padme who left the safety of Naboo for Tatooine for him once. In their better days, his late wife cheerfully endangered herself for him as well. All for the fool’s errand that was rescuing his mother. But that’s what love does. Love takes risks.

And so, the next morning after he has redeemed himself with some enthusiastic lovemaking, Vader takes a risk. He doesn’t want Astral to be the only person sticking their neck out for Luke Skywalker. He too will tempt fate. It’s time for a grand gesture.

“When you go back to Tatooine,” Vader begins with tacit approval of her return trip. He’s stroking Astral’s back as she lies across his chest. They’re both sweaty and sated in the aftermath. But they are so cozy right now that neither of them wants to get up for a shower. “When you go back, I want you to tell Luke about the new Death Star. Tell him that I will leak the details through the Bothans to the Rebellion.” That’s how these things are done to preserve plausible deniability. He can’t simply hand Astral a datafile with the new plans to deliver to his Rebel kid.

She lifts her head. “You want the Rebels to blow it up again?”

“Eventually, yes. But mostly, I want to earn Luke’s trust. I need to show him that we have common concerns.” If Luke is ever going to see him as someone other than Palpatine’s enforcer, Vader needs to confound his son’s expectations. To that end, he will continue Astral’s strategy of creating doubt. But instead of casting aspersions on the lying Jedi’s motives, he will confuse the kid about who he thinks his father is.

Surprised and pleased, Astral half sits up to hover over him. “So . . . you are going to show him that you’re the traitor Apprentice?”

“Yes.” It’s two birds, one stone. Vader will subvert Sheev’s repeat folly and hopefully earn some begrudging goodwill with his kid. And if Death Star II gets blown up in the process, it will be the icing on the cake.

It’s a bold move, but still . . . he’s not the covert Rebel Astral wants him to be—not really. There are plenty of pragmatic solutions the Empire employs that Vader endorses. Sheev just takes things too far at every chance he gets. He’s unnecessarily extreme because he can be. Throwing his weight around to exert control and to punish mostly for the Hell of it. For at his core, Sheev Palpatine is a sadist. It’s part of what makes him such a successful Sith. He’s the galaxy’s alpha predator who’s also a gleeful hater. It’s why Darth Sidious needs to go.

Astral is beaming down at him. Vader reaches up to twine a strand of her hair around his finger. Her shiny copper locks are getting quite long again. He loves it. He’s always been a long hair guy since his childhood days of watching his mother unplait her own hair at the end of the day.

“I refuse to allow another Alderaan,” he promises Astral. “If Sheev gets another weapon operational, things will get a lot harder.” And then, the universe will skew hard to Darkness. It’s the wrong direction from the balance he intends.

He might be a sad poseur as the Chosen One. Force knows, Vader has prayed that the burdens of that unfortunate status be taken away from him since the benefits seem to have waned as well. But he was raised a Jedi too long not to believe in the prophesy. And though he might be the son of the Force, Vader knows that it is the will of the Force that matters, and not his own. That’s a good thing, really. His own decision making is clearly flawed—as demonstrated most recently at Bespin. And so, Vader long ago abandoned the hubris that his personal actions express the will of the Force. Instead, he hopes for the best. _Make me an instrument of your peace_, he silently implores the Force. It’s an old Jedi prayer that is very ironic for a Sith Lord. But more and more these days, Vader finds himself a man without a creed or a purpose. He’s not adrift so much as he’s fed up. Tired of waiting for change and ready to make it.


	32. chapter 32

“You came.” Astral is so relieved to see Luke Skywalker that the words slip out before she can stop them. She and her secret stepson are once again standing amid the dim, refuse-ridden remains of Jedi Master Kenobi’s home taking shelter from the Tatooine twin suns.

Luke nods. Then, he confesses, “I almost didn’t. I’m not really sure why I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Astral smiles to reassure him. Luke looks more nervous than she feels. He keeps shifting his weight and his expression strikes her as both haunted and hunted. He seems hyper alert. Ready to flee. Maybe ready to kill. He’s wearing a blaster strapped on his thigh and he’s got his new lightsaber hanging at his waist.

“You’re alone,” he announces.

Does the Force tell him that? Astral immediately confirms, “Yes.” Suspecting the concern that prompted the comment, she hastens to explain, “He wanted to come, but I wouldn’t let him.”

The ‘he,’ of course, is Darth Vader.

“So he knows we’re meeting?”

“Yes.” Like last time, Astral’s policy will be full disclosure. This kid has been lied to enough already.

“Why did you tell him?” Luke’s blue eyes narrow with suspicion.

“I didn’t tell him. He found out. He has me watched a lot.” And wait—that came out wrong. Like she’s some stalked prisoner wife, which she’s not. All in all, Astral has remarkable freedom as a private citizen given who her husband is. So she’s willing to put up with her surveillance to keep it.

The young Rebel looks away at her answer. Just the reference to Lord Vader stresses him out apparently. “Should I be leaving? Is there an ambush coming?”

Astral frowns and grumbles, “There had better not be . . .”

“Well, is there?” he demands testily.

“We’re fine. He’s fine with this. He was initially angry that I went behind his back to see you, that’s all. He’s fine with us meeting today.”

“He’s not a guy to anger,” Luke observes under his breath.

“Yes, I know,” she commiserates. She’s trying to build a rapport with this angry stranger who is her stepson. Astral now sheepishly admits, “He had me arrested at the opera for last time.”

“Really?” Luke looks up sharply. “Well, I guess that sounds like him.”

She shrugs it off. “That’s just your father being your father. He wanted to make a point.”

“Is that what my hand was about? Him making a point?”

“No,” she answers quickly. “That was an accident.”

“It was not—”

“It was an accident!” she insists. “You injured his sword arm and it made him less accurate. Luke, he never meant to hurt you. He was very upset at himself for hurting you . . . especially in that way. No one knows the pain of an amputation like your father,” she laments.

Luke looks unconvinced.

She tries again. “Look, what he says and what he does are not always what he intends.” Lord Vader doesn’t have the best emotional intelligence. That blank mask doesn’t help matters. It really impedes a human connection with the man inside.

Luke says nothing, but his face betrays his skepticism. He’s so jumpy that it fuels her own nervousness.

Astral finds herself babbling now. “His shoulder has healed. It will blend in with the rest of the scars one day. Thankfully, his armor bore the brunt of the burn . . . ”

More silence from Luke.

“There’s no lasting damage. He’s fine . . . in case you were wondering . . .” she finishes awkwardly.

But from the look on his face, Luke clearly wasn’t concerned. There’s no pretense that the wound he inflicted was an accident. There’s no apology forthcoming either, she notes.

For a moment, Astral wonders if Luke wishes he had killed his father at Bespin, if only to preempt this untenable situation of family members fighting on opposite sides of a war. Fearing that is in fact the case, Astral quickly becomes her husband’s best character witness. She has to convince this young man to look past Darth Vader’s misdeeds and missteps. Because when father and son finally meet again, she doesn’t want anyone dying.

And so, she argues, “Your father is the toughest man in the galaxy. Sometimes, it’s like he’s made of steel. Well, some parts of him are,” she grimaces at her unfortunate phrasing. “But that’s Darth Vader on the outside, not on the inside. He’s a good man—"

“I don’t want to hear this.” Luke cuts her off.

“Why not?”

He takes offense at her question. “Why not?” Luke hisses. “Because the ‘Darth Vader is really a good guy’ scam falls a little flat with me. I’m here to help my friend he encased in carbonite and gave to a Hutt, remember? That’s not good guy behavior,” he mutters. “It was cruel.”

Astral takes the reprimand. She doesn’t have an explanation for what happened with the smuggler other than that Darth Vader was keeping his deal with the bounty hunter he hired. So, searching for a safer topic, she asks, “Are you going to be able to rescue him?”

“We’ve got a plan.”

“Good.” Luke doesn’t look inclined to elaborate and Astral doesn’t ask for details.

Now, they are back to eyeing one another in tense silence. Since small talk has failed, Astral decides to skip the words and to speak with actions. She was hoping to lay more predicate for the big Death Star reveal, but she worries that if she doesn’t act fast, Luke will leave and she’ll lose her opportunity. Already, it feels like this second meeting is deteriorating far quicker than the first one. So, Astral rallies and plunges ahead with her most treasonable action to date: passing top secret information to an enemy Rebel commander.

“I have more information for you,” she begins. “Your father didn’t come, but he has authorized me to tell you—"

“He sent a message?” the boy interrupts. Does he look hopeful? Surprised? Scared? She’s not sure. “Wait—he sent you with a message??”

“I’m supposed to tell you that they're building another Death Star.”

“Oh, fuck,” Luke Skywalker swears under his breath. His vulgarity strikes Astral as very atypical behavior. She senses that when this kid is profane—like the rare occasions when Darth Vader curses—it really merits the colorful language. Luke’s mouth settles into a grim line. “We feared as much. But we couldn’t be sure.”

“It’s way behind schedule. That’s thanks to your father,” Astral explains. “He can’t stop the weapon but he can slow it down. That’s what Darth Vader does—behind the Emperor’s back, he tries to make things better. Less harsh. On camera and to everyone in person, he’s ruthless Lord Vader. That’s how he gets away with it.”

Luke disagrees. “It’s not an act. He is ruthless. I’ve seen it myself.”

“He can be,” she concedes. “But mixed in there are quiet acts of mercy and goodness now and then. You have to know to look or you miss them.”

Luke all but rolls his eyes at this assertion. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, because this is one of those times. He will leak the information on the Death Star to the Rebellion through the Bothan spy network. It needs to look like the plans were stolen again. Lord Vader needs plausible deniability for when you blow it up.”

“What’s his angle?” Luke counters coolly. “Why is he really doing this? Is it a trap?”

She shakes her head. “He’s helping you and getting himself out of a jam. The Emperor just put him in charge of the project. That means he has to show results. He can’t create more delays since it’s his job to get the station finished. It’s why he needs the Rebellion to take it out for him.”

Luke cocks his head at Astral and squints. “Let me get this straight—Darth Vader wants us to blow up the Emperor’s new Death Star?” Finally, it seems, Luke Skywalker has been surprised in a good way. 

Astral nods emphatically. “Yes!” And is he getting this? Does he appreciate what his father is doing? “Luke, this is your chance to work together with him for the common good.” She adds, “I’m from Alderaan. I hate that weapon more than anyone. I want it destroyed too.”

Luke is still struggling to understand. “So, he’s doing this for you?”

“He’s doing it for all of us. To rid the galaxy of superweapons and to make the Force more balanced. Sheev Palpatine has gone off the deep end into Darkness. With rituals and seances and creepy occult stuff designed to make himself immortal. Your father says that the Emperor is half insane from all those spells. Dark power has corrupted his mind. He’s twisted and evil now.”

“Isn’t that the point of the Dark Side?” Luke goads.

Astral stays on message. She’s not here to talk about the Force. “You’ll get the precise coordinates to the Death Star project and the information about the energy shield that protects it. He will give you a window of time to launch an offensive. He may even be able to disable the shield generator for your attack . . . it just depends . . .”

What she’s saying is finally beginning to sink in. Luke looks equal parts pleased and aghast. “He really did oppose the first one . . .”

“Yes! And he almost died for it.” Astral now beseeches her Jedi stepson, “There is good in your father. He has a conscience. The Emperor hasn’t driven it fully away.” This kid needs to see that Darth Vader is not a monster. He’s a man stuck in a thankless job he hates and can’t quit. Trapped in a life he never really wanted in the first place.

“When do we get this information?”

“I’m not sure. It has to go through the proper channels to make it look like it was leaked from a low-level source.”

“But this is legit?” Luke wants to know. “It’s not a trap to get the Rebel fleet amassed in a single spot to finish us off?”

“This is real,” Astral assures him. “This is high treason and we’ll all die for it if Sheev learns. We’re taking an awful risk here.” This had better work, Astral thinks to herself. “Luke, this is the chance for the Skywalker family to work together to make things better. Please give your father another chance. He’s not the man you fear he is.”

“He has surprised me in this,” Luke admits, but he won’t go farther.

Encouraged, Astral plunges forward with the second big reveal she has planned. It’s the news Lord Vader doesn’t know and wouldn’t approve of at all. But Astral didn’t feel that she could say no when the issue was raised by Snoke.

She begins tentatively. “Your father isn’t here, but there is someone else from his family who is. He’d like to meet you, if you are willing.”

Does Luke sense her hesitation? His pale blue eyes drill into Astral. “Who is it?“

How does she answer that question? Astral settles on, “I guess you could say he’s your paternal grandfather.“

Luke doesn’t like her equivocation. “You guess?“ he challenges. 

“He can explain it to you better than I can.” Astral feels way out of her league when it comes to matters of the Force. “The relationship is . . . complicated.”

“You said Vader was a slave boy here on Tatooine.” 

“That’s true. He grew up with his mother until the Jedi found him. But Lord Vader has a father . . . sort of. . . “ Again, she is vague. 

“Who is this guy?”

“He lives in exile in the Unknown Regions. He and Sheev Palpatine are longtime enemies.” 

She’s not trying to be cryptic, but clearly she has succeeded. “Is this one of those ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ pitches?”

Kind of. “There’s not anyone who dislikes the Emperor more than your grandfather,” Astral answers frankly. “Your grandfather is where you and your father got your Force from.”

“He’s a Jedi?“ the boy asks hopefully. 

She frowns. “Not exactly.”

“Well, he’s not Sith. There are only ever two Sith. A Master and his Apprentice.”

“I’ll let him explain,” Astral punts weakly. “I’m not sure if he has a label for what he is currently.”

“But he’s a Skywalker too?”

She nods. “Like I told you, there are more of us.” And now, she admits, “Your father doesn’t know that he’s here. Lord Vader probably wouldn’t want you to meet him. You should know that your father and your grandfather don’t get along that well . . .”

Luke grimaces and unwittingly deploys his father’s trademark sarcasm. “I think I like him already.”

“Then, will you meet him? He’s on a ship in a docking bay at Mos Eisley.” She assures Luke, “There is no danger. He is the last person who would ever sell you out to the Empire. And,” she recalls belatedly what Lord Vader once told her, “I believe that your grandfather is a financial backer for the Rebellion.”

Luke gapes. “You’re kidding me, right? Darth Vader’s dad backs the Alliance?”

Astral grins sheepishly at the ridiculousness of that true statement. “Is that any stranger than Darth Vader’s son blowing up the Death Star? We’re a complicated family.”

Luke nods slowly. “I’m beginning to see that.” 

“Will you come?” Astral sees the wisdom of Luke meeting Snoke now. Because she can’t seem to get through to this kid and Darth Vader clearly can’t. Maybe a third person is what they need to break through Luke’s fearful stubbornness.

Her Jedi stepson looks dubious, but he nods. He hops on a speeder bike stashed around the rear of the hut while Astral climbs into her speeder. Then, they both take off for Mos Eisley. 

An hour later, they arrive at what passes for civilization on Tatooine. The local spaceport isn’t much for creature comforts. Like the rest of this poor planet, it is strictly utilitarian in design. Still, Docking Bay 94 seems especially dingy to Astral’s eyes. Right now, it is empty save for a nondescript cargo shuttle that has seen better days. The shuttle ramp deploys as Astral and Luke pull up. Down the walkway plods the exceedingly tall, heavily cloaked and hooded figure of Snoke with his characteristic twisted limp.

Luke looks questioningly to her as he swings off his bike. Astral nods. “That’s him. That’s your grandfather.”

Snoke awaits them as they walk up. He stands tall and stately, like this is a formal audience and he is receiving them in a throne room instead of a sandy docking bay that reeks of hyperfuel and urine. Notwithstanding the setting, Snoke is as smooth as always. Nothing phases the man. Astral can’t help but admire his confidence. She knows how much he has hoped for this meeting. But if he’s nervous, it doesn’t show.

“This is a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. Well done, Astral,” Snoke commends in the gravely baritone that is the equal of his son’s masked and amplified rasp.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she nods respectfully.

At her side, Luke repeats the honorific under his breath. “My Lord . . .”

“Come closer.” Even here in the middle of nowhere, Snoke projects an air of princely command. But Astral can’t help but notice how Sith he appears. The hood . . . the mysterious face . . . the slow menacing drawl . . . the imposing stature. It’s all quintessentially Darth Plagueis. But it’s not going to endear his Jedi grandson, Astral suspects.

Sure enough, Luke lags back. He’s staring—well, maybe it’s glaring—at the giant man swathed in flowing black with an alien scarred face that is mostly hidden.

“Closer, I said.” Snoke beckons him forward again.

But Luke stands his ground. He looks very pale suddenly. The young man was jumpy before, but now he looks like he’s facing imminent execution.

Snoke does not insist. Instead, he announces with great relish, “Welcome, young Skywalker. Long have I waited to meet you.” And this is true, Astral knows. She’s seen the years of surveillance photos Snoke amassed during his grandson’s formative years. “The prodigal son returns at last,” the old Muun intones with undisguised pleasure. “Glory be to the Force for your deliverance.”

Luke Skywalker’s determined poker face gives nothing away. “Who are you?” he asks with a distinct edge to his tone. And thus begins the hostile dance of posturing that accompanies the meeting of two heavyweights of the Force. Astral looks on as hapless bystander to this unlikely family reunion.

“I am the man with the answers you seek and the knowledge you need,” Snoke proclaims. As intended, it’s a wholly dissatisfying response. Luke is being toyed with and he knows it.

“Who are you?” he demands again. Louder this time. More impatient. “Who are you really?”

Snoke smiles indulgently at this nervous bravado. It’s like he’s enjoying it. Astral watches as the towering Muun reaches up to toss back his hood. It’s a casually elegant gesture that reveals his battered visage in full. Astral has seen Snoke’s ruined face many times, but it’s still a lot to take in for pure shock value. He’s got a hole in one cheek and an ear that is missing. His skin is thin and pinkish grey, more corpselike than living. These are the marks not of time but of violence. Like Lord Vader’s scars, Astral endeavors not to dwell on them. For the suffering they bear testament to is uncomfortable to contemplate. 

When the young Jedi has looked his fill and the silence has become deafening, the wily Muun introduces himself. Of all the aliases he can choose from, he selects the one most likely to provoke conflict. “I am Darth Plagueis the Wise,” he proclaims with pride, “Dark Lord of the Sith, Apprentice to Tenebrous and Master to Sidious. Father in the Force to your father Anakin Skywalker.”

The full minute of quiet that follows that news is uncomfortable. No one says anything. No one does anything. Still, the tension between their trio ratchets up significantly.

Luke Skywalker seems uncertain how to proceed. But he rallies and accuses: “You’re a Sith!” Luke whirls on her standing closest to him. “You brought me to a Sith??” he snarls.

Luke reaches a hand for his sword but Snoke waves his own hand and does something in the Force. Immediately, the young man is frozen midmovement. His eyes bulge and he appears to strain to break free from an unseen paralysis. But Darth Plagueis is clearly dominant.

“You are aggressive, I see. Like your father. You have hate, you have anger . . . like a Skywalker should,” Snoke observes with almost clinical detachment. He sounds pleased. “That’s the Dark Side in you, Jedi. You will never walk wholly in the Light. Darkness is born into you. It’s your birthright.”

Wary Astral looks from one man to the other as Snoke lets the situation linger. Astral is no fool—she recognizes that old Darth Plagueis is establishing the pecking order. But too much Force machismo will impede things, she fears. This sort of masculine posing can escalate fast and before you know it, someone’s missing a hand.

“Are you hurting him? Please don’t hurt him—"

“He’s fine. Look, how he struggles. Rage against me now. Good . . . goooood.” Snoke says the word like it’s six syllables. He’s chewing the scenery as he plays the part of consummate Force villain. “Indeed, you are powerful, like your father promised me.”

Has he made his point? Is the test over? Astral is about to intervene when Snoke speaks again. This time, it’s a warning for his grandson. “Do not dare draw your sword. There is no danger and there is a lady present. Mind your manners, Padawan.”

Snoke waves his hand again and Luke Skywalker now regains control of his body. The kid is seething as he glares alternately at her and Snoke.

“I’m sorry about that,” Astral hastens to make amends. She’s annoyed at her father-in-law. His approach isn’t helping matters. In fact, it might be worse than Darth Vader’s duel. Still, this conversation is crucial, Astral knows. As Lady Vader, she can speak with authority to Luke about his father and the Skywalker family. But she’s not qualified to address the Force. Only his father and grandfather can do that.

“What do you want?” Luke Skywalker spits the words out. His jaw is flared and his posture is rigid. Righteous contempt is written across his expression.

“I want everything,” Snoke blithely boasts. It earns him another irked look from Astral. With answers like that, Darth Plagueis is doing nothing to reassure Luke of his good intentions. “In return, I can give you everything. You can be the hero for the ages,” the old Muun promises. “The man with the courage and the talent to bring lasting peace to the galaxy.”

Luke’s reply is unequivocal. “I told Vader I wouldn’t join him. I’m telling you now I won’t join you . . . whoever you are . . . ”

“I am Darth Plagueis the Wise.”

“Never heard of you,” Luke shoots back peevishly.

Snoke scowls and complains, “Kids today . . . They don’t teach you anything at Jedi school, do they?”

“Luke, wait—” Astral inserts herself as her stepson turns on heel to leave.

Snoke scoffs, “Young fool.”

“Luke, please—” she tries again.

“Do you wish to leave?” Snoke challenges his fast fleeing grandson. “Because you are free to go. But you cannot escape your destiny any more than your father can avoid his fate.” He wags a spindly clawed finger at Luke. “I know how this ends. I have foreseen it. So let’s omit the refusals and make things more efficient.”

Astral watches as Luke turns and gulps. It’s clear he’s intimidated by talk of Force premonitions. Still, he counters softly, “The future is always in motion.”

Snoke smirks. “Perhaps for a novice like yourself. I have watched you a long time. Waiting for you to grow up. Wondering if I should intervene. Fearing all along that I would lose you like I lost your father. One of the greatest regrets of my life is what happened to your father. Darth Vader has lived a miserable life.” Snoke’s eyes slant to find Astral now. “I understand that Astral has told you a bit about your father’s past. Did you listen to her?”

“I heard what she said.”

“That’s not the same as listening,” Snoke chides.

Luke makes no reply. He just shifts his weight uncomfortably. But at least he’s stopped trying to leave.

Snoke stays on the topic of Darth Vader. “Do not judge your father too harshly. He has many fine qualities for a warrior. He is cunning, ruthless, and an excellent battle tactician. There is much to learn from his example. But Darth Vader is a man of action and not of words.” The Muun slants an apologetic glance over at the young Jedi. “Let us agree that persuasion is not Lord Vader’s strong suit. That clumsy business at Bespin was regrettable in the extreme. I have expressed my displeasure to your father. Did I not, Astral?” 

She dutifully pipes up, “You did.”

“It’s not the first time your father has screwed something up, and it won’t be the last time,” Snoke gibes. “At least you landed a blow. He deserved that. Now then,” the Sith switches gears. “I know that Master Yoda teaches you. Your father is upset about it, but on the whole, I approve. Learn the Light first. Then, your father and I will teach you Darkness. We will make a Skywalker out of you in due time. Once day, you’ll make us proud, Luke.”

“I’ll never join you!” the young man hisses, like he’s rebuking the devil. From the ugly vehemence on his face, Astral can only imagine this is a version of the rejection her husband received at Bespin.

Snoke is undeterred. “You will. I have foreseen it.” The Muun takes bold steps forward as he surveys his much smaller grandson with approval. “You aren’t big, but you could be a giant of the Force. In you, I see what all masters live to see,” the exiled Sith crows. “Raw, untamed power. And beyond that, something truly special--the potential of your bloodline. Luke, you are the spawn of Vader, the heir apparent to the son of the Force, the successor to the man who is both the Jedi Chosen One and the Sith messiah—”

“My Lord!” Astral interrupts Snoke’s crescendoing melodrama. She’s heard enough, and from the look on Luke’s face, he has as well. “My Lord, if may—"

“Yesssssss?” Snoke turns to her as he draws out the word for maximum evildoer effect. It’s almost corny to Astral who knows better, but one glance at Luke Skywalker tells her he’s buying this Dark Side intimidation routine completely. And that’s precisely the problem. 

So Astral speaks up. “My Lord, since we are all family, perhaps we can dispense with the . . . er . . . “ She searches for the right word choice, settling on, “scare tactics.”

And was that too bold? Indignant Snoke blinks. “What scare tactics?”

Luke immediately yelps, “I’m not afraid!”

To which, Snoke purrs, “You will be . . . you will be . . . “ with both a pointed tone and a pointed finger. 

“That!” Astral calls out her father-in-law-in-the-Force. “Stop that! You’re scaring him!”

“I’m not scared!”

“You look petrified,” Astral retorts to Luke. She looks up at Darth Plagueis with consternation. “Stop scaring him. His father already did that. It didn’t help.”

“I’m just being myself,” the miffed Muun intones with more spooky baritone. “I can’t help it if I’m naturally intimidating—"

“Oh, stop!” she complains. “Stop playacting as the ultimate Sith Master and be normal.”

“But my dear, I am the ultimate Sith Master,” Snoke grins, finally breaking character from his posturing. “Astral, this is how it’s done. The young innocent is lured to the wise and weary old man’s lair for the big pitch. Since time in memoriam this is how it unfolds. And I’m old school.” 

Snoke looks around now. “As it is, this is sort of a shabby setting. It ought to at least be a castle or a temple. Normally, you don’t form a conspiracy to steal the galaxy and remake the Force next to a rundown ship on a backwater world. It’s not sufficiently evocative,” he sniffs.

“But I thought we were breaking with all that tradition,” Astral contends. “You are ending the Jedi and the Sith religions, right?”

“Well, yes. But these things must be done properly,“ Darth Plagueis harrumphs. “Now then, let us resume.” Again, he starts in with the slow voiced scare tactics. “Such Force you have, young Skywalker. Like your father. Remarkable . . . simply remarkable. Sheev will be lusting to flip you Sith once he senses your pow-ah—"

Astral sighs. “Snoke—“

“Oh, alright. You’re here to ruin all my fun, aren’t you?” the giant Muun pouts. It’s almost comical with his ruined features. “Stop stealing my gravitas,” he eyes her with resentment. “Vader at least got to swing a sword with him. What do I get? Just this moment. This was my big entrance and you ruined it. I didn’t even get to promise him unlimited power.”

“But you’re scaring him—"

“Oh, pshaw! He’s made of sterner stuff. Aren’t you, boy?”

Luke eyes his grandfather and decides, “You’re actually not as scary as Darth Vader.”

It’s a terse diss. Those are fighting words for Darth Plagueis. “Is that so?” Stung, Snoke now shoots blue lightning from his right hand. Luke narrowly dodges the attack, diving to the ground. “I’ll show you scary—“

“Stop!” Astral screeches as she watches Snoke lift both his hands to fire again. 

Luke jumps to his feet and lights his sword in response. 

“You stop too!” Astral hisses at her stepson as she rushes to stand between the two combatants. This is going downhill fast. She tries to salvage things. “Stop it, both of you! Turn that sword off!”

“Green,” Plagueis eyes Luke’s still-lit weapon with disdain. “Interesting choice.”

“It will kill you no matter what color it is,” Luke fires back. 

“Actually, it won’t,” Snoke smirks. 

“No one is killing anyone!” Astral huffs. “You,” she orders to Snoke, “no more lightning. And you,” she commands to Luke, “put that sword away. We are family and we need to get along! We are allies. The real enemy is the Emperor.”

“Are you this sassy to Lord Vader?” Snoke wonders aloud. “I’m going to start calling you Darth Astral from now on.” But he lowers his hands, she notices with relief.

Astral composes herself and lowers her voice. She got a little screechy there for a moment. “Please, my Lord, don’t squander this chance. You may not get another.”

“Oh, very well,” Snoke relents, calling over to his wary grandson who still brandishes his sword, “Welcome to the family, Luke.”

“Are things always like this?” the young man asks as he belatedly and begrudgingly deactivates his weapon. 

“No,” Astral answers firmly. 

Just as Snoke cheerfully admits, “Yes.”

She glares at him and corrects, “No.”

Snoke shrugs and volunteers for Luke’s benefit, “She’s correct. It’s usually more tense when your father is in attendance. Right, Darth Astral?”

“Er . . . perhaps.” 

“You’re nothing like Darth Vader,” Luke announces. 

Snoke laughs. He actually laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m much more fun. He’s always grouchy.”

Luke looks to her and Astral confirms awkwardly, “It’s true.”

“My son is—shall we say—intense.” Snoke explains to Luke, “That’s code for high strung even by Sith standards.”

“He’s under a lot of stress lately, that’s all,” Astral grumbles loyally.

“Stop making excuses for him. The man has the emotional stability of a teenaged girl. He’s sullen and petulant and easily hurt. You’d think a Sith Lord would have a thicker skin than he does. Vader stomps around choking people and tossing off shade all day like some holonet troll come to life. He makes Sheev look fun by comparison.”

Luke Skywalker looks a bit sullen and petulant himself right now. But mostly, he looks exasperated. “You’re not even human,” he blurts out at Snoke. “How could you possibly be my grandfather?”

“All things are possible in the Force,” Darth Plagueis replies with maximum reverence and condescension.

“Oh, stop,” Astral calls him out before he can begin his preening Sith Master schtick again. “Just tell Luke where he came from.” There’s no need for all this posturing.

“Fine. I conjured your father in the Force.”

“You what?” Luke chokes.

“It was a masterful bit of Sith sorcery,” Snoke brags. “Lord Vader is not my biological child, but he is my creation nonetheless.”

“How?” dumbfounded Luke wonders. “How is that possible?”

“I spent many years studying midichlorians. They are the essence of the Force, but they are not the whole mystery. Midichlorians are at best an approximation, more like a reflection of potential than they are a true causation. The Jedi put far too much faith in them, in my opinion. But I digress . . . “ Snoke ceases his musings and gets to the point. “After many decades of research, I learned their secrets. I alone know how to extend life, how to create life anew, and how to resurrect it once lost. All through the power of the Force.”

Luke looks impressed and intimidated.

Astral sort of feels that way too.

“I have the power of a God,” Snoke crows, “because through the Force and through my knowledge, all things are possible.” He shoots his grandson a sly look. “Why waste your time moving rocks when you could be learning my secrets?”

Luke has no answer to that question.

Snoke cocks his head now as he asks, “Tell me, what did Master Yoda and Master Kenobi tell you about your father?”

Luke looks confused and uncertain now. Clearly, the boy is unhappy with the lies he has been fed. “Obi-Wan said that Darth Vader betrayed and murdered my father.”

“Such a bold lie that was,” Snoke smirks. “One wonders how the Jedi thought to get away with such a tale. Did Kenobi explain why Darth Vader wears his mask and suit?”

“No.” 

“I thought not. Kenobi did that to your father. The Jedi cut him to pieces and watched him burn alive. He did not have the good grace to finish him off. Instead, he walked away and left him to die. That is the mercy Kenobi showed his star student who was like a little brother to him.” 

Luke looks to her and Astral nods to confirm Snoke’s version.

“Why did Kenobi refuse him the coup de gras? Do you know? It was because Kenobi was afraid to kill your father! All along, the Jedi have been terrified of your father.” Snoke pauses a moment to let that assertion sink in.

“Did Master Yoda tell you that he opposed training your father as a Jedi? Did you know that Yoda advocated that your father be sent back to Tatooine, presumably back into slavery? It was only Anakin Skywalker’s remarkable public heroism that forced the Jedi Council to relent. Their stated objection was your father’s advanced age of ten years old. He was too old to train, or so they claimed.”

“Too old at ten?” Luke is confused.

“Yes. And yet, you yourself are not too old to train now,” Snoke points out. “Why the inconsistency? Because age was a pretext all along. Even as a boy, your father had an impressive connection to the Force. The Jedi Council saw this and they feared it. They knew Anakin Skywalker would one day grow to eclipse them all. They knew they would not be able to control him like they did the others. Oh . . . they did their best to instill their discipline and dogma, but to no avail. Anakin Skywalker was a child of the Force and not your ordinary Padawan.”

Luke has no rejoinder. He just looks increasingly uncomfortable. Like he doesn’t want to hear this, but he fears not hearing it.

“Why were the Jedi terrified of your father? Why are they desperate to lure you to their side now? Willing to tell any number of lies to keep you there? I’ll tell you why,” Snoke purrs, “power. Your father is the son of the Force. A mortal man born of a human woman but made of the magic that binds the universe together. Listen carefully so you understand: Anakin Skywalker is both Light and Dark, like the Force that sired him. He could never cut it as a Jedi and he’s not a real Sith. He’s too full of inner conflict to adhere to either religion faithfully. His fall from grace was inevitable.” Darth Plagueis holds his grandson’s eyes steadily. “You might say it was intentional. Anakin Skywalker was born to disappoint all his Masters.”

“Vader is both Jedi and Sith?” Luke whispers in confusion.

Astral takes the opportunity to repeat her assertion from earlier. “Luke, there is good in him still.”

“Absolutely,” Snoke concurs. “When your father tried to live as a pure Jedi, the Darkness rose in him. But now, the Darker he becomes, the stronger his Light Side asserts itself. It makes him very, very special. For in your father is a microcosm of the unending drama of the universe. It’s the ever shifting, self-correcting algo rhythm of life. Vader is the moral dilemma within all of us. He’s the angel and the devil combined. And that,” Snoke concludes, “is why he is the Chosen One destined to bring balance to the Force.”

Bewildered Luke says nothing. He just looks first to Astral and then to Snoke. The boy doesn’t look like he is following any of this.

It prompts Snoke to complain, “You do not know the prophecy of the Chosen One? Has Master Yoda omitted that information too?” Snoke throws up his hands in exasperation. “Truly, you have been deceived, Luke Skywalker. Ask Master Yoda about it when you return. Let’s see how he explains this one.”

“I’ve never heard of the Chosen One,” Luke mumbles miserably.

“It’s a prophecy as old as the Jedi Order. It promises that there will come a Jedi who will bring balance to the Force. Listen well, Luke. Learn this simple truth: the Light Side and the Dark Side are both eternal. They will forever coexist. The Sith cannot defeat hope and compassion any more than the Jedi can conquer aggression and fear. What does that mean? It means the ongoing war between the two religions is pointless. The only way to win is to destroy the Force itself—to wipe out all life in the universe. Where is the victory in that sort of nihilism?”

Astral watches as her Jedi stepson blinks. No doubt this is heresy to his young, impressionable ears.

“The balance between the Light and the Dark shifts over time and it tends to cycle. But there is always some form of rough balance to the universe. If ever the Force tips too far to one side, it rights itself the opposite direction. When the Dark gets too aggressive, the Light grows stronger to compensate. But when the Light reigns too long, Darkness rises. Extreme measures—like the Death Star—can even provoke the Force to shift abruptly.” 

“I don’t understand,” Luke stammers. “You’re on the Dark Side but you don’t want to destroy the Light?”

“That is correct.” Snoke crosses his arms and looks down his nose at his skeptical grandson. “Are you surprised that a Sith Master can value the Light? I may surprise you with my knowledge of the Light. I know all about the Living Force and the Cosmic Force. I can quote you Jedi chapter and verse on many topics. Some of which, the Jedi got right. Others which they did not.”

“If what you say is true, then my father was supposed to bring balance to the Force. Not lead it into Darkness.”

“He is bringing balance to the Force.”

“By hunting Jedi??” Luke accuses.

“Yes. The Purge was a necessary first step. The Jedi weren’t going to reform. They would never have surrendered their power and influence. The only way to move past them was to wipe them out and to topple the Republic they revered. Now, we are down to a handful of Sith and a couple of remaining Jedi. But really, the only ones left who matter are our family, Lord Sidious, and Yoda. That’s a lot closer to balancing the Force than a generation ago when there were ten thousand Jedi Knights with temples organized across the galaxy all preaching an unattainable version of pure Light.”

“Vader betrayed his friends—“

“--who would have killed him in time. Make no mistake,” Darth Plagueis argues softly, “the Jedi Council would not have tolerated your father much longer. They knew where he was heading.”

Luke Skywalker’s face is a thundercloud as he retorts, “Vader massacred younglings! He went on a killing spree for over a decade!”

The old school Sith Darth Plagueis doesn’t bother with excuses for that behavior. Instead, he argues, “It takes a man schooled in both the Dark and the Light to balance the Force. Your father needed to experience each extreme religion before he could understand the need for a middle ground. Some truths need to be lived to be learned.”

But the young Jedi isn’t buying it. “You’re wrong! Vader didn’t kill Jedi for balance, he killed them to solidify his power . . . as a Sith.”

Ever the pragmatic Dark Sider, Snoke merely shrugs. “Does it matter? It was time for the Jedi to end.”

That statement provokes an indignant glower from his grandson.

But Snoke is undeterred. He looks Luke over thoughtfully. “Not everyone remembers the Jedi Order as fondly as Masters Kenobi and Yoda do. For when the Jedi were at the height of their power, they meddled ceaselessly in everything. In the military, in commerce, and in government. They called themselves 'Keepers of the Peace,' but all they really did was intervene to choose their preferred winner for every conflict. From trade routes, to taxes, to treaties, to elections, the Jedi had to have their say. They were constantly embroiled in turf battles because they disdained the courts and the Senate. They preferred to handle matters themselves. The problem was that the Senate and the courts were the backbone of the Republic. Over the years, the actions of the Jedi Order served to weaken them both. And so, at the crucial moment when the galaxy needed strong, unified leadership, its institutions failed to resolve the Separatist Crisis. The ensuing war destroyed much of the galaxy for years.”

Luke makes no rebuttal, so Snoke continues his history lesson.

“The last straw came when the Jedi Council attempted to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor. Yes, Sheev was a Sith Lord. But Sheev was still the duly elected Senate Chancellor and the senior Senator from Naboo. The Jedi had no lawful grounds to ambush him and attempt his murder. There was not an investigation, let alone a trial, before the Jedi Council showed up at his office to kill him. In the eyes of many, it was a blatant coup attempt. When all the dust settled, no one spoke in defense of the Jedi. Over the years, the Jedi had earned many enemies and they were increasingly blamed for the Clone Wars. By that time, the galaxy at large was glad to see them go. No one wants them back. We moved past them long ago.”

“You yourself said the Light is eternal,” Luke counters.

“Yes, but do not conflate the Light with the Jedi religion. To say that if the Jedi die, the Light dies, is hubris.” Snoke now urges, “Luke, let the past die. Don’t let yourself be manipulated into recapturing the glory of a failed institution that was hardly the tool of democracy your mentors would have you believe.” 

“And the Sith?” bristling Luke challenges. 

“It’s time for them to end as well. That’s where you and your father come in. With his insider access and your growing power, together you can depose the Emperor. My old Apprentice is the last real Sith left. Your father is far too conflicted to be a proper Dark Lord.”

“Then what is he?”

Snoke thinks a moment. “Think of him as Dark with boundaries.”

“Whaaat??”

“Your father has limits. Sidious does not.”

“And you?”

“Let’s just say that I have evolved. I see the limits of the Sith religion. I no longer esteem Darkness as supreme. I have moved on.”

Astral watches Luke shoot Snoke a knowing look. “You mean you want to balance the Force to rule the Light and the Dark now? Because the Dark Side alone is no longer good enough??” Luke is astute enough to know that this is a power play on multiple levels.

His observation makes Snoke grin. “That’s one way of viewing it,” he concedes wryly. “Your father and I have our differences, but we share a common view of the Force. We have taken different paths to get here, but we have arrived at the same place. We want to end the Jedi and to end the Sith. To usher in a new era of enlightenment and understanding. To bring peace to the galaxy and to the Force.” 

“So once again, Vader is supposed to betray someone who trusts him?” Luke jeers. “Only this time, it’s his Sith Master, not his Jedi Master?”

Darth Plagueis is untroubled by the mutiny he plots. “It is a time-honored strategy for the Apprentice to supplant his Master. It’s hardly cheating. ‘Kill and ascend’ has been the way of the Sith for a thousand generations. So don’t feel too bad for Sheev Palpatine. He has it coming. The difference is that this time, the Apprentice will not renew the Sith. He will end them.”

“How? How, if Darkness will always endure?”

“Balance,” Snoke answers. “The Sith know that balance will come. Your father was foretold in their tradition as well. Anakin Skywalker is the Sith’ari of ancient Dark lore, the prophet Lord who will destroy the Sith and yet make them more powerful than ever . . . through balance. So you see, your father is rather terrifying. He’s the walking, talking apocalypse of the Force that both sides fear. That’s why Kenobi wouldn’t risk killing him. It’s why Sheev Palpatine is up late at night worrying that his own days are numbered. He deludes himself that your father’s powers are diminished from his injuries and that will keep him safe.” Darth Plagueis flashes a sly grin. “It won’t. Darth Sidious will be the last of his kind now that Team Skywalker has assembled.”

Snoke goes on the attack now. “In fact, things were proceeding just fine until you showed up to slay Darth Vader. Here you are a Jedi wannabe attempting to insert yourself against the will of the Force. Don’t you dare light a sword again to harm your father—“

Luke sputters, “I didn’t know that he was my father—“

“You should have! Go back and ask Master Yoda why he sent you a lamb to the slaughter, unaware and half-trained, to meet your father. Tell me, what would have happened on Bespin had Lord Vader not already discovered who you are? You would have been lucky to lose merely a hand and not your head! What teacher does that to his student?”

“I’m sure Master Yoda had his reasons,” the boy grumbles loyally. 

“Oh, he has his reasons,” Snoke snaps. “If you believe nothing else I tell you today, believe this: you are a pawn of the Jedi Order’s revenge against your father. The Jedi are using you for their own goals. Be careful, boy, because my old pupil will do the same.”

Luke looks up sharply and Snoke purrs, “Yessss . . . it is you and your abilities the Emperor wants. Darth Sidious would gladly sacrifice your father and let you take Vader’s place at his side. It gets rid of his Chosen One nemesis and it upgrades him to a younger, more malleable Apprentice. Mark my words, Sidious will nurture the conflict between you and your father and use it for his own ends. Do not trust the Emperor any more than you trust the Jedi. We are the only people you can trust. Astral, myself, and your father—we are the only ones who have your best interest at heart.”

Luke recoils. “I’ll never join you!”

“Then, get out of the way!” Snoke roars. “Do not persist in this Jedi crusade! It puts you in opposition to your family and it places you on the wrong side of history. Balance is the ultimate goal of the Force. Seek balance, Luke Skywalker, not the Light.”

“I’ll never turn to the Dark Side!”

“Yes, that’s the point,” Snoke answers back with exasperation. “We will be neither Dark nor Light, but somewhere in the middle. Truly, it is unnatural what the Jedi ask of a man. Emotion is a strength, not a weakness. You should embrace your desires and seek what fulfills you. To do otherwise is to rush headlong into misery. The life of a Jedi is a life of denial, frustration, and loneliness. Ask your father how much fun it was.”

“It is a life of service to others,” his stubborn grandson counters.

Snoke brushes this platitude aside. “You may serve others when you rule the galaxy with your father. Leadership is the ultimate in public service, is it not? Darth Vader makes a meaningful contribution to history. Do you not wish to do the same?”

“Not with him. And not on the Dark Side,” Luke disavows.

Snokes grunts and peers at his grandson. “Have you been taught to fear the Dark Side, boy?”

The young Jedi shifts his stance and shifts his eyes. “Yes,” he admits.

“Have you ever wondered why?”

“It is for my own good. To protect me.”

“That’s Yoda talking. It is to control you. To limit your power. The Jedi adhere to simplistic dichotomies—to Dark versus Light, good versus evil, and Jedi versus Sith. Trust me, the great mystery of the Force and the problems of the galaxy are not so easily summarized.” Snoke observes ominously, “You in particular will find it hard to walk the path of a traditional Jedi. There is too much of your father in you.”

Again, Luke looks up sharply. Angrily.

“Yessss . . . there it is. I see it. Yoda surely sees it too. You’re just like your father. There’s much fear in you.”

Poor Luke looks horrified, Astral sees.

“Forget all those Jedi rules,” Snoke decrees. “You should study the Force in all its glory and from all its angles. Without limitations or restrictions. You should connect with the Force as feels most natural to you. Sometimes, that will be through emotion. Sometimes, that will be through calm. The strength and depth of the connection are what matters, not how you achieve it. Luke, you will take the best of the Jedi and Sith traditions and transcend them both. But you will need to unlearn some of what you have been taught.” Snoke amends himself now, “Perhaps much of what you have been taught.” 

The boy is especially wary now, Astral sees. “Obi-Wan warned that this is a dangerous time for me. That I will be tempted by the Dark Side of the Force.” 

Snoke dismisses this fearmongering. “You are a bright boy with great talent. It is only natural that you are curious. That you seek knowledge.” He frowns now as he warns, “Beware of any perspective on the Force that clings to its orthodoxy. Truth ought to withstand scrutiny. Even at times, to welcome it. Had the Jedi Order been less rigid in its point of view and had it interfered less in politics, it might have survived. But now, the Jedi are all but extinct.”

“That was Vader’s doing.” As always, Luke seeks to assign blame to his father. It’s a reflexive gesture that has Astral feeling discouraged for a reconciliation.

But his grandfather keeps engaging him point for point. Lord Plagueis drawls, “Do you truly believe that Lord Sidious and Dooku brought down a thousand-year-old galactic democracy completely on their own? That there was no popular will of the people in support of the Empire? We Sith are good, but we are not that good. More appropriately put, we are opportunistic. We look for opportunities to exploit.”

“I am one of those opportunities, aren’t I?” Luke Skywalker gives Snoke a cool look. This young man says little, but what he does say is insightful, Astral has noticed.

Snoke merely smiles. “No, you are family.”

Luke looks to her and Astral nods her fervent agreement. She might not have standing to argue about the Force, but she’s got standing to argue for their family.

Even Snoke seems to be getting frustrated with this discussion. It’s gone on too long with too little progress. “Why choose this course?” he complains. “What are you hoping to achieve by becoming a Jedi?”

Luke thinks a long moment before he answers. “I want to bring peace, freedom, justice, and security to the galaxy.” He looks a bit sheepish as soon as these grand words leave his mouth. But Astral can’t help but think that red faced Luke sounds like his father. Ambition is a hallmark of a Skywalker, after all. Just like the Force.

Snoke challenges him quietly, “Why do you need to be Jedi in order to do that?”

The question appears to the stump Luke. 

The towering Muun resumes his pitch now. “You can play the young reformer role in the Empire, if you wish. You have standing with your Rebellion background. Consider what you could do if you worked from within the system rather than attacking it. You see yourself as a freedom fighter, but to many you currently are a terrorist. Luke,” he pauses, “you could be so much more than that. You could be a leader.”

The boy disagrees. “The Empire will not tolerate dissent, let alone change.”

“Not currently,” Snoke allows, “but under your father’s leadership, it would.” 

“Vader would never—“

“Lord Vader,” Snoke overrides him, “wants change more than anyone. He’s been living under Darth Sidious’ thumb for over twenty years. He might be more of a Rebel than you are,” Snoke observes dryly.

Then, he steps back. “My boy, I have lectured you by speaking at such length. We have covered a lot today. Think on what you have heard. Consider this opportunity.” The battered Muun reaches to pull up his hood to cover his face. He beckons to Astral. “I leave you now. I cannot linger long even on a world such as this.” 

Are they done? Astral tentatively approaches Luke. “Goodbye,” she murmurs. “Good luck rescuing your friend.”

The young man looks troubled and upset as he nods.

Do they shake hands? Do they hug? This kid looks like he really needs a hug. But like last time, Astral settles on a blessing. “May the Force be with you,” she mumbles a little awkwardly.

“Come, Astral,” Snoke prods. “This isn’t safe for you either. You can’t be seen with me or you’re a dead woman.”

It’s true. Astral nods, “I know. I’m coming.” 

Old Snoke’s hooded but keen eyes linger one last moment on Luke Skywalker. “Together, our family could do great things. With my power, with your father’s grit, and with your ideals, we could change everything for the better. Astral here will do her part to keep us all in line. But first,” Snoke points a gnarled finger at his grandson, “you need to dream bigger than just your revolution to restore the past.”

Snoke turns and begins his slow limp towards the shuttle ramp. But Astral lingers at Luke’s side. She doesn’t want to leave without giving him some way to contact her. Otherwise, there will be no way to resume this conversation. She starts fumbling in her pocket for her comlink. 

“What do I do now?” Luke speaks his confusion aloud. 

Snoke halts his progress and half turns. “Go back to Master Yoda. Ask for his version of events.”

Astral watches as Luke gulps. He doesn’t look anxious to confront his Jedi mentor about any of this. 

“You must do what you feel is right, of course,” Snoke counsels gently as he resumes his lumbering. “Come, Astral. Do not tarry.”

She heads for the ramp now, offering Snoke her arm to lean on.

Behind them, young Luke calls out. “Wait!”

Snoke doesn’t stop. His grip on her arm tightens. It’s his signal to keep walking. 

“Wait!” Luke persists.

Snoke catches her eye and Astral could swear he winks at her before turning back to face his grandson. “Yessss?”

“Where are you going?” 

“To find your twin sister,” Snoke drops a bombshell.

The boy looks at them both blankly. “But I have no sister.”

“You do. She lives . . . I hope.”

“You hope?? Who is she? Where is she?”

This time, Astral answers. “We don’t know. I’m sorry. There’s nothing more to tell you.” She gives Luke a sympathetic look. He looks utterly disillusioned now. His family isn’t who he thought they were. His Jedi mentors are not as pure hearted as he believed. And the path he has chosen for his future is very complicated and potentially wrong. This boy thought he was the solution. But now, he is being told that he is part of the problem.

“I have a twin sister??” Luke looks as frustrated as he looks incredulous.

“Ask Master Yoda about her too,” Snoke gripes. “I believe he and Kenobi were the ones to hide her.”

“Yoda knows?” Luke asks weakly. 

“Yes. Go home, boy. The Jedi know everything you seek to know. Ask them yourself.” Darth Plagueis looks especially grim now. “Accept nothing less than the complete truth. You deserve the truth. Here.” Snoke reaches into his sleeve to retrieve a comlink. He tosses it to Luke Skywalker. “If he tells you where she is, contact me. When you are done rescuing your friend from the Hutt, we can go rescue her. Sidious will kill your sister if he finds her first.”

The young man catches the comlink and pockets it. Then, he looks away. Luke Skywalker doesn’t seem to know what he wants. And that’s understandable given the circumstances.


	33. chapter 33

“I assure you, your Excellency, the battle station will be operational on the revised schedule.”

Vader stands in Sheev’s throne room watching Moff Jerjerrod conclude his presentation on the Death Star. Like everything the Moff does, it includes a lot of overly optimistic assessments and risky promises. The man is eager to please his Emperor. But while his forecasts are unachievable, the Moff’s rose-colored glasses are helpful. All this relentless positivity allows Vader to play the role of critic. Again and again, he points out the risks to the situation. That’s good CYA for all the trouble he has been faithfully causing behind the scenes since he learned of the project. And since he plans to have the Rebels blow up this new technological terror, Vader needs to be especially careful to place blame on others. Otherwise, he will end up disabled by the wrath of Sheev’s lightning once again . . . or worse.

That means Vader is keen to point out that the station is especially vulnerable now that the reactor core is exposed. There’s no need for a weak exhaust port flaw. No one even needs to steal the plans. For once the shield is down, the Rebels can simply fly right into the superstructure for an easy direct hit. Vader’s solution is to shore up the defenses projected from the nearby moon. But that will take time, divert resources, and cause further delays. Sheev nixes the suggestion. It’s one of several ideas to bolster security that his Master shoots down to speed things up. And that is exactly how Vader wants the meeting to proceed. Overconfidence has long been Sheev’s weakness, and it is on full display today.

It’s pretty cringeworthy how much Sheev pants to have his new weapon finished. It’s like his Master can’t wait to kill another planet. Evidently, Sheev also plans on spending a fair amount of time cruising around the galaxy in his new toy. He and Jerjerrod now waste far too much time going over the design specifics of the new throne room that is a very late addition to the blueprints. For his part, Vader just looks on in silence.

So Darth Sidious wants to hang out on his poorly defended, vulnerable, and half-built super weapon?

Excellent, Vader thinks to himself.

Finally, the Moff gets dismissed. That can only mean one thing. It’s time to talk about Luke Skywalker. Vader does his best to muster his mental defenses. Sheev will be looking for any hint of disloyalty in this most delicate situation.

“Have you succeeded in making contact with your Rebel son through the Force?” Sheev wants to know. What he’s really asking is ‘have you and your kid been plotting behind my back?’ Because Sheev assumes he would be conducting those negotiations himself. It probably hasn’t occurred to his Master that Astral would make the perfect trustworthy go-between for treason.

Vader gives nothing away. He answers the question he is asked. “No, my Master.”

“Are you trying sufficiently hard, Lord Vader?”

“Yes, my Master.” In fact, he’s tried many times. But he has yet to recreate the brief mental connection he and Luke achieved at Bespin.

Sheev grunts and shoots him a look of contempt. “You are too damaged, I assume?”

Vader fears that is the case, but he’s too proud to fully admit it. Plus, there’s always the possibility that Luke is intentionally shutting him out. “Perhaps, my Master.”

“It is no matter. We shall let him stew. In time, we will draw him out again.”

“Another trap?” Vader pretends to be enthusiastic about turning Luke to the Dark Side.

“Yes. One he cannot resist,” Sheev answers without elaborating. “But first, we must get the new weapon operational. That is your highest priority, Lord Vader. Your search for young Skywalker can wait.”

Whew. Vader bows his head in a show of deference. “As you wish.” Then, he exits the throne room as fast as possible. Lest his thoughts betray him and his true intentions for his Rebel son become clear. Sheev’s obsession with his super weapon has just given Vader the time he needs to stalk his wayward kid and hopefully coax him to his side. That new throne room for the Death Star raises all sorts of intriguing possibilities as well.

Now that his interview with Sheev is done, Vader’s day is done. Time to return to his orbiting star destroyer. But first, he detours to collect Astral. He has been looking forward to their reunion all day. He can’t wait to see his wife and to hear the news from her second mission to Tatooine. Vader heads for the Palace landing pad at an especially fast clip. There a transport awaits to take him to her nearby apartment and then to the _Executor_.

Astral knows he’s coming. She’s waiting for him on the terrace, standing there ready to go with her purse in her hands looking lovely in a blue cape thrown over one of her work dresses. As the transport hovers above and its ramp deploys, Vader walks down to offer her his hand.

She’s smiling, her face lit from within, as she reaches to accept his help. Soon she’s tucked up under his arm, snug beneath his cape whipped by the night breeze, as together they step up into the transport. Vader turns his head to order the pilot to depart for his flagship as Astral lingers close.

The proximity lasts until she realizes they have an audience. “Oh!” Astral yelps and leaps three feet away as she spies the other occupant of the shuttle.

Vader tersely performs the introductions. “That’s Moff Jerjerrod.” As a show of his focus on teamwork to complete the Death Star, Vader is ferrying the Moff back to Endor so together they can inspect the construction progress in person.

“Hello.” His wife nervously reaches up to smooth her hair. “I’m Astral Sidhu,” she offers awkwardly.

Her embarrassment makes Vader smile behind the mask. Astral is red faced like they have been caught in bed instead of just arm and arm. Who cares? If Sheev can catch them in an embrace on the Palace landing pad, then this guy can see him holding hands with his own wife. The way Astral is acting suggests something illicit and that’s all wrong. His first marriage may have been against the rules, but this one is not. And the Moff here is hardly a Rebel who might seek to harm Astral in order to strike at him.

But it turns out that Jerjerrod is about as happy to see Astral as she is to see him. He hauls himself from his seat to stand in respect, but his tone is less than enthusiastic. “I remember you. You’re the woman who hates the Death Star.”

Astral lifts her chin. Vader knows that gesture. She’s about to get frosty. 

“Indeed,” she responds in her best rich bitch demeanor she’s picked up from hanging out with all her art world friends. Astral sniffs, “I hate that weapon.”

Vader can’t resist needling the Moff. “She hates you too,” he drawls.

“No, I don’t,” Astral grumbles. “I hate what he does, not who he is.”

“No one who says that ever means it,” Vader observes. He’s a bit gleeful as he tells Jerjerrod, “She definitely hates you.” Then, Vader settles into a seat and grabs for his datapad to finish sending a message.

He’s enjoying how flummoxed the Moff is by Astral’s sudden appearance. Military guys never know what to do when there isn't a clear chain of command. Vader told his tagalong that they were stopping to pick up an informant on the way to his flagship. And that’s technically true. Vader is dying to hear about Astral’s latest chat with his Rebel son. But she’s no ordinary Intel provider as Jerjerrod has no doubt surmised. It means he can’t decide how to treat her.

“Hate the sin, not the sinner? Is that it?” the affronted Moff bristles in his understated way.

Astral states it more succinctly, “Mostly, I hate the Death Star. I hate any weapon used to slaughter innocent civilians. Most especially when our Emperor lies to the galaxy about it.” Her delivery is quiet but her words are bold. It’s very her.

Now, the Moff has his dander up. Jerjerrod is a big fan of Sheev’s pet project he feels certain will be his career making command. And, like every senior officer, he loves to make a grand show of his absolute allegiance. He eyes Astral with cool disdain. “Not a prisoner tonight? Or shall we say, not yet? Careful because statements like that might get you arrested, Ms. Sidhu.”

Was that a threat? That had better not be a threat. Vader looks up from his datapad and inserts himself again. “Hardly. She’s my lady.“ i.e., back off, Moff.

Jerjerrod misunderstands but he doesn’t back down. “Your pardon, milady. Let me rephrase that. Statements like that might get you arrested, Lady Sidhu.”

“No, she’s actually my lady,” amused Vader clarifies. “She’s my wife. That’s Lady Vader who you are suggesting we arrest.”

That puts the snippy Moff in his place. He looks shocked, then immediately contrite. “Oh. Yes, of course. My mistake. Pleasure to meet you, Lady Vader,” he reflexively attempts to suck up.

It’s a little late. Astral raises an eyebrow and says nothing. Atta girl, Vader thinks. His wife doesn’t get loud when she gets mad, she tends to get more composed. And right now, she looks terrifyingly self-possessed. Watching her now, he sees Astral is definitely getting the hang of this Lady Vader gig.

Jerjerrod grovels some more. It’s sort of fun to watch. “Er . . . forgive my comment about getting arrested . . . That was very inappropriate of me.”

“It was,” Vader chimes in just to watch him squirm some more. Vader tends to cultivate a sense of mystery and the implicit power it projects. That means when little bits and pieces of his private self dribble out—like tonight when he reveals Astral as his wife—people invariably get nervous. Truthfully, Vader rather enjoys these moments. It’s why every now and then, he summons a senior officer to his private quarters to let them see him from behind without his mask. There is a childish pleasure in shocking people. It’s what passes for diversion in his life.

“Oh, I’ve been arrested,” Astral announces blithely. “Three times, so far. But who’s counting?“

Vader looks up from his datapad to disagree. “No. Twice. Two times.”

“Three times,” she corrects.

“Two times. The restaurant and the opera.”

Astral gets frosty with him now too. “Are you forgetting the six hours I spent in detention on your ship?”

Whoops. He forgot about that. But he waives it away. “That doesn’t count. It wasn’t me. It only counts if I arrest you,” Vader contends as Jerjerrod blinks at his reasoning.

“I’m still mad about the opera,” Astral informs him softly.

“No, you’re not.”

“Am too.”

Is she pouting? Astral isn’t the pouting type. “Get over it. And get over here.” He pats the empty seat beside him. “Take a seat. That’s an order.”

Astral dutifully complies.

“Good,” he approves. “No need to arrest you a third time.”

“Fourth time,” she corrects him.

Jerjerrod still looks flustered. Vader ignores him. Instead he types ‘_I missed you_’ on his datapad and hands it to Astral.

She types back. ‘_Same here but three’s a crowd_.’

To which he responds, ‘_I have to tolerate_ _him. But just you wait until I get you in my egg_.’

He sees her stifle a smile. ‘_Does this count as sexting_?’

‘_We’re too old for that_’ he writes back.

‘_Speak for yourself, old man_’ is her reply. She adds a few silly juvenile eggplant emojis for good measure. And now, Astral asks aloud, “Did you see the boss?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He’s his usual self. The Moff here got to tell him that the Death Star is making progress . . . or it was until Sheev started making modifications.”

“More delays?“ Her voice has an altogether too hopeful note.

He quells it. “Regrettably so.” Then, Vader types again on the datapad for her to see ‘_Stop trashing the_ _Death Star. It’s about to become your new favorite thing._’

She shoots him a disbelieving look and grabs for the datapad to respond. ‘_Impossible_.’

‘_The Force is with us’_ he writes before he deletes the whole conversation.

Today’s news is just what he needs. For ever since Bespin, Vader has been mulling over his options. Hiding Luke from Sheev doesn’t seem feasible, mostly due to the dynamics of the situation. But there’s also the kid’s considerable Force imprint. It’s undeniable and likely growing, plus Sheev already knows to look for Luke. Even if Vader could hide the boy, it would be a temporary solution at best. The only long-term fix to keep Luke safe is to kill Sheev and remove the threat. That outcome seemed a long shot until today. But suddenly, unexpectedly, and very fortuitously, ridding the universe of Darth Sidious feels a lot more doable. And since there’s no such thing as luck, it must be the Force at work.

Minutes later, their transport docks at the _Executor_ and they ditch Moff Jerjerrod. But only once he and Astral are alone in his medical pod do they speak of the issue they both want to address.

“I have good news for you,” Astral tells him as she helps to remove his mask.

There. That’s better. He can look on her with his own eyes. Vader smiles. “I have good news for you too. But you first.” He wants to know how things went with Luke. Most specifically, how he took the Death Star news.

Astral starts talking him through their conversation. “It started tense, but I think the Death Star information will go a long way towards building trust. Already, Luke trusted me more because he agreed to come back to the ship to meet Lord Plagueis.”

“He whaaaat??” Vader squints at his wife. Did he hear that right?

He did. “Snoke gave him the big pitch about the Force. I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that.”

“I’m supposed to do that,” Vader huffs.

“You know you can’t do that now,” she replies gently. As usual, Astral is very careful about how she alludes to his failure at Bespin.

“So instead you brought him to Plagueis??”

This is terrible news. Vader doesn’t trust that guy farther than he can throw him with a Force push. The last thing he needs now is that creepy Muun manipulating his estranged kid to plot against him. Because that’s just the sort of thing a Sith Master would do. Plagueis could take on Luke as Apprentice and then together they could challenge him and Sheev. They’d win too. Because Vader’s not dying for Sheev and he’s not killing his own kid. Fuck, why the Hell did she do this?? She’s supposed to be on Team Vader.

He fixes her with a hard look of reproach but Astral is unrepentant. “It was the next step. Luke needed to meet the rest of the family.”

“I thought you said this was good news,” Vader scowls. Again, he shoots her a dirty look. “Well, how did it go?

“It got off to a bad start but we recovered.”

“Yeah? Bad start how?”

“There was Force lightning and Luke lit his sword.”

“Did the Muun hurt him?” Vader hisses, his yellow eyes flashing.

“No!” she immediately reassures. “No one got hurt. It was a lot of posturing with me in the middle.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“No.”

“No harm, no foul?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“It was a lot of talk about the Jedi and the Force. About how it was time for the Jedi to end and how Darth Plagueis wants you to balance the Force.”

“The Chosen One?” he sighs. Damn how he hates that prophecy. It makes him feel like the ultimate failure.

“You’re also the Sith version of the Chosen One, I learned.”

Vader makes a face. “The Sith’ari . . . the Sith who destroys the Sith to make them stronger.” And if that fairytale is true too, then Vader has let down both the Jedi and the Sith. He’s a failure for the Light Side and for the Dark Side. He’s double the failure. Great . . . just great . . .

“Lord Plagueis was very convincing that you’re going to save us all. He really believes it. It wasn’t all talk.”

Astral looks so hopeful, but Vader shakes his head. “It’s too late for me.” He squandered his chance long ago. Now he’s a broken-down wreck of a man with too little Force to save the galaxy. Damn, he hates thinking about this. He quickly changes the topic. “What did Luke say?”

“Not much. This was the first he had heard of any of it. He was suspicious and confused. He kept saying he wouldn’t join you or join the Dark Side. He is very skeptical of Lord Plagueis’ motives to kill Sheev.”

“So am I,” Vader grouses. Then, he can’t help but ask, “Did you talk about me?”

“Not really. Snoke just said Bespin wasn’t your best moment. He said you were a man of deeds, not of words. You know,” she cocks her head at him thoughtfully, “I think Snoke actually likes you.”

Vader frowns. “Don’t call him that. It’s a stupid name.” It’s a name for a pet, not for a Sith Lord. “Tell me more,” he urges. “How is my son?”

“Honestly? He’s pretty lost. Luke looked very betrayed when Snoke told him he has a twin sister.”

That was a bold move and one that makes Vader strongly suspect that Snoke knows where his daughter is. “So Luke didn’t already know?”

“No. He was shocked. Angrier than ever then,” Astral judges.

“How did it end?”

“Darth Plagueis cut the meeting short. He told Luke to go back to his Jedi Master to ask for their side of the story. To ask for information about his sister. But,” Astral considers, “Luke didn’t seem too keen to do that. I think he’s afraid to tell that Yoda guy he’s been meeting with our side. And maybe,” she muses, “he’s worried that the Jedi will lie to him again. My Lord,” she sighs, “I don’t think Luke knows who to trust and that’s the problem. He certainly doesn’t know what he wants . . . ”

“So Plagueis drove a wedge between Luke and Yoda?”

Astral nods. “Snoke left him wanting more, for certain. By the time we jumped to hyperspace, Luke had buzzed on the comlink Snoke gave him.”

“He did?” This is good news. “And?“

“We’re meeting again. This time on Naboo. Darth Plagueis wants you to be there this time.”

“Good.” Because there’s no way Vader is letting that guy work over his son again without him being in attendance. It’s too risky. The setup is perfect for Plagueis to insert himself as ally since, thanks to Bespin, Vader has cast himself in the enemy role.

“Luke doesn’t know what he wants,” Astral repeats softly. It’s clear she feels very sorry for his boy. “He seemed very disillusioned at the end.”

“That’s good,” Vader decides. “It means he might be open to changing his mind about a few things.”

“Like you,” she suggests as she reaches for his hand. She gives it a little squeeze. “What’s your news? Give me your good news.”

“Sheev wants the Death Star reactor core outfitted with a throne room. So he can ride around in his super weapon feeling like a badass Sith as he watches himself destroy planets.” No doubt the whole time he’ll be jerking off with a chorus of acolytes singing hymns to Darkness at his side, Vader figures. Truly, his Master’s ghoulish antics are ridiculous. Vader finds it hard to believe that the old Sith Empire could ever have been so theatrical as Sheev’s version of those ancient rituals.

Astral frowns. “Why is this good news?”

“Because it will get him out of Coruscant. He never leaves his Palace. Never. And if he’s on the Death Star—"

Astral’s eyes light up as she finishes his sentence, “--then the Rebels can kill him when they blow it up.”

“Precisely.” That’s not how it’s usually done. You’re supposed to kill your Sith Master man-to-man in single combat. Only the Apprentice who is strong enough to supplant his mentor will pass the test to become the Master himself. And if you try and fail? Well, you die for the attempt. For in the tradition of Darkness, you either rise or die trying.

In over twenty years, Vader has never made an attempt against Sheev. That’s not for lack of ambition. It’s because he’s never devised a plot good enough to merit the risk. But this chance? Well, it has fallen into his lap and it feels too good to pass up. It also has the added bonus of taking out the second Death Star. If all goes well, Vader could emerge as the leader of the Empire who can broker a deal with his secret son and the other Rebel leaders. Together, he and Luke could bring peace, justice, freedom, and security to the galaxy. They could even bring back a Senate. Padme would like that, he thinks. And Plagueis? Well, he’ll find a way to deal with that Muun. He may have to tolerate him in some role going forward if the guy truly is immortal. But if not, then maybe he and Luke can find a way to kill him.

Beside Vader, Astral’s eyes are wide with possibilities. “Oh, my Lord, do you think it could work?” she breathes out in excitement.

Vader feels the same way, but he feels obliged to temper her expectations. “A lot of things would have to go right in order to pull it off.” They’d have to plan the Rebel attack once Sheev was at the station, which probably means they couldn’t try it until after the Death Star is operational. But maybe there would be a way to sabotage not only the shield generator but also the weapon itself to make it easier for the Rebels to succeed. Then his son could jump in an X-wing and repeat his feat from Yavin. Or maybe, Vader muses, he could hop in a TIE and do it himself. That could be fun. Luke’s not the only good pilot in the family.

“But it might work, right?” Astral is standing before him, looking down with hope shining in her eyes. “If anyone could pull it off, you can,” she urges with complete confidence. “Darth Plagueis says you are an excellent tactician.”

He said that? Well, maybe it’s true. Vader knows he has long dared big things. He has never been a man for incremental change and measured risks. He makes bold moves. That’s part of why he has felt so frustrated spending the last twenty years in a holding pattern waiting for this opportunity. It’s also why he is giddy inside about its possibilities.

Astral leans to kiss his forehead. “You will make an excellent Emperor, my Lord,” she whispers.

“Come over here you,” he growls as he grabs for her. His long-suffering ego loves it when she cheerleads for him. She’s one lone voice among a chorus of millions of haters, but it helps.

Astra doesn’t resist the gloved hands that now rake her figure. She just coyly ducks her chin in mock subservience as she lowers her eyes and answers, “Yes, Master.”

He smirks. Well, it starts as a smirk but it spreads into a grin.

Seeing she has an appreciative audience, Astral teases, “What is thy bidding, my Master?” as she sinks to her knees before him. Like this is his throne room and not his egg cluttered with datafiles and discarded towels and gloves strewn on the floor.

“Your Excellency,” he corrects. “Not Master.” She’s no Sith. Astral is far too Light for that. And besides, “My Empress won’t kneel to me,” he promises.

“As you wish,” she grins back cheekily. But she doesn’t get up. Her hands are resting on his pants and they creep up. “What does an Empress do?”

“She keeps the Emperor happy,” he answers as he reaches for his belt. Because is she thinking what he’s thinking? “Please me.” He means it as a request, but it comes out like an order so he tries again. “Please please me.”

Now, it’s her turn to smirk. “Yes, your Excellency.” Astral’s hands replace his to undo his clothing. And yes, that just the way he was hoping to be pleased. Vader groans with pleasure as he slumps in his seat to give her more access. His gloved hands now reach to guide her head forward into his lap. Oh Force, her mouth feels incredible. He will never tire of this feeling. This is just what he needs after a stressful day that culminated with an interview with Sheev. 

Later, she lolls naked in bed in his arms in the afterglow. Now completely relaxed, he strokes her back and asks, “Are you hungry? Do you want dinner?” They went straight to bed this time. Like the newlyweds they still are.

“I’m easy. Whatever you think is fine,” she murmurs into his chest. 

Astral shifts to snuggle deeper into him. She feels so warm and soft. By now, they are completely comfortable around each other. He’s not self-conscious about his scars or his prosthetics. And here in his medical capsule, he breathes without a mask. This is his little bastion of normalcy. A place where he feels almost like a regular man. Where he can be himself with the woman he loves. 

Astral is so good for him, Vader knows. She gives him the love he craves. And now that they are married, he has the emotional security he has long needed. For unlike his mother and Padme, Astral isn’t going anywhere. She’s here to stay. Whatever happens going forward, he’s confident that Astral will never leave him. She has no reason to leave him since she’s already seen him at his worst. She knows he kills and he plots. She’s no stranger to his moods. Astral knows the truth of him—the good parts and the bad ones—and that means there is nothing hidden that will shock or horrify her if revealed. 

But prosaic matters now intrude. Astral’s stomach growls. Loudly. 

She giggles. 

“Tell me what you want,” he prods. “I’ll order something. I’m hungry too.”

“Forget food. I want this. I love this.” 

He feels the same way. They get so little time together. But he’s still hungry. “Come on, let’s eat. You’ll need your strength for round two,” he rasps suggestively. 

“Okay. We can order something.” She half sits up now and asks, “Do you think it could work? Because I can’t stop thinking about it . . . ”

Her comment is a complete non sequitur and yet it needs no explanation. For once again, their pillow talk is treason. “I can’t stop thinking about it either,” he confesses. Ever since he left the throne room, his mind has been preoccupied with the possibility of killing Sheev. Of freeing himself and the galaxy from the whims of that petty little despot. Of ending the oppression of the Sith like he once silenced the never-ending sanctimony of the Jedi.

He’s spent decades waiting for this opportunity. Finally, the time has come. With Astral and Luke involved, he has more skin in the game than ever, but he also has more potential upside. For if all goes well, Vader could end up ruling the galaxy with the support of a family. Sure, it looks different than he imagined originally when he first planned to subvert Sheev. But it could still be good. And for the icing on the cake, perhaps one day he and Luke will find his missing sister.

Astral is as enthusiastic as he is. “Do you think it could work? It would be amazing if it could work. . .”

“It will only work if I can get through to Luke. This will never work if he doesn’t trust me.” All the particulars of where to go and what to do won’t matter if Luke questions them. Vader has been in battle many times, so he knows plans go awry and unforeseen issues occur. That’s why you can’t be too prescriptive about warfare. Get too rigid and you might lose. But still . . . taking out a Death Star is going to require some coordination, and coordination requires trust. 

“It’s probably easiest if a small Rebel force takes out the shield generator on Endor and I blow up the station,” he decides. “They’ll never suspect me in a TIE. They won’t even know to mount a resistance to friendly fire.”

“But you can tell Luke and his friends where to go and what to do, right?” Astral worries. 

“Yes. But they have to trust me. None of this works if they don’t trust me.”

She nods to his wisdom. “It’s more than just Luke trusting you, isn't it? It’s the other Rebels trusting Luke to trust you.”

“Yes, and who among them is going to trust Darth Vader?” Therein lies the problem. It’s a big problem.

Astral thinks a moment. “So after we convince Luke, I guess you need to meet with Mon Mothma?”

Vader scoffs. “She won’t meet with me. She’ll fear it’s a trap.”

“You’re right.” Astral falls silent again before she suggests, “Maybe she would meet with Snoke since he gives her funding . . . ”

Vader nixes that idea. “I don’t trust Plagueis.”

“Then how about me?” Astral offers. 

“Mon Mothma won’t meet with Lady Vader. Luke will tell her who you are.”

“What if I came with a big donation?” she brainstorms. 

“You’re asking me to fund the Rebellion?”

“If it gets me through the door, why not?” she reasons. “Think of it as another way to earn Luke’s trust. First, you give the Rebels the information they need. Now, you give them credits.”

“That might help,” he warms to the idea. “But Luke will have to vouch for all of this. He’s the key part.” Vader sighs. “He hates me . . . he hates me and I can’t blame him.” That business on Bespin is insurmountable, he fears. 

Astral has a different take on the situation. “He fears you. I think he might fear becoming you. But he doesn’t hate you. I don’t think he would have come back to meet me on Tatooine if he had resolved to hate you,” she theorizes.

Vader sighs again. He exhales long and hard this time. “He hates me . . .” He cut the kid’s hand off. That’s good reason to hate even without the context of their Jedi-Sith conflict and him killing Obi-Wan.

“We’ll just have to keep trying. Don’t give up on Luke yet,” Astral wheedles.

“He hates me . . .”

“Anakin,” Astral gets his attention with that name and she knows it. She must sense him spiraling fast into despair. It’s no secret to Astral that he gets these mood swings. The emotional high of seeing a way out of his predicament is inevitably followed by the depressing reality of how hard it will be to conspire with the Rebels. But Astral is ever the dutiful cheerleader. “Anakin, don’t give up hope,” she gently chides. “Luke’s meeting with me a third time. That’s progress. Let’s see where this goes.”

It’s something Padme would have said so Vader immediately agrees. He’s long been a sucker for a determined woman. And, well, there is the name. On the rare occasions when the name Anakin Skywalker comes up, he always says it no longer has any meaning for him. That’s a lie, of course. The name has lots of meaning for him, and that’s the problem. 

There are times when he misses his old self. When he wonders what he might have become had he left the Jedi Order for Padme. Or had he survived Order 66 and remained a Jedi. Would he be the leader of the Rebellion now? Might he have been the ace pilot who blew up the Death Star? It’s doesn’t take much imagination to envision scenarios in which he himself would play a version of the Luke Skywalker role. His Rebel son might be shocked to know it, but some small part of him is jealous of his kid’s daring heroism. Because it’s just the sort of thing Anakin Skywalker was known for long ago.

It’s also got him thinking . . . could Astral’s suggestion that he join Luke and his Rebel friends be feasible? Vader’s cynical self deems it a ridiculous ploy. But then again . . . could it work? And what exactly would he renounce to do it? His politics are more malleable than his views on the Force are at this point. He’s not about to become a Jedi again, but he’d be fine with abandoning the Sith. It’s time to leave all that stuff behind. Sheev’s taking the Force in the wrong direction, Vader firmly believes.

More and more, Vader feels like it’s time for the galaxy and for him personally to move on. His obsessive grief and guilt for Padme kept him slavishly devoted to the past for far too long. Mostly it was because his present was barely tolerable and his future bleak. But then, his long-lost son destroyed the Death Star and Astral came into his life. Things have never been the same since.

Those shocking events brought a glimmer of Light into his gloomy Darkness, but at first he didn’t know it. The promise of a better life with a better future began when he was least expecting it--amid his pain-ridden recuperation at his castle. Vader didn’t go looking to fall in love, but the Force had other plans. It sent him what he didn’t know he needed in Astral. And now, she has him reexamining what he wants and thinking of paths not taken. Will Astral be the catalyst for a reconciliation with Luke? Could that be the aim of the Force in all of this? If it’s possible to heal the breach of Bespin to form some sort of alliance with his son, then truly Vader’s hope will be renewed. And that might just help to balance the Force a bit. For as every Padawan learns, the Light is hope.

The Force works in mysterious ways, Vader knows. The Jedi tradition taught that Force users were agents of change and therefore it was their duty to serve the universal good. To accept and to obey the will of the Force and to eschew the desires of the individual. That mandate sounded good, but it fueled a deep seeded elitism that plagued the Jedi Order. For in deeming themselves the instruments of the Force, the Jedi tended to cloak their actions as the will of God, whether that was in fact the case or not. In fact, Obi-Wan would have scoffed at the idea of the Force manipulating events through a layperson like Astral. Not because he didn’t acknowledge the importance of the common man acting with free will, but because Obi-Wan would have deemed Astral in particular insignificant in the larger scheme of things.

But Vader has been a plotting Sith long enough to know differently. The people and experiences who influence us are not always who we expect. And you don’t have to have a fancy position or enormous wealth or special skills to matter. So when Force blind Astral tells him not to give up hope, Vader listens. Sure, she’s nobody. But not to him. And that’s the point.

“When do we meet Luke?” he asks.

“Next week.”

Good. That gives him time to finish up with his Death Star inspection. “Does Plagueis have to be there?” he whines a little. He’s still miffed at the Muun’s involvement.

“Yes.” Astral’s answer is firm. So firm that it makes Vader wonder if her self-appointed mission to reconcile father and son extends to more than one generation.


	34. chapter 34

Darth Vader is nervous as he walks with Astral at his side to meet his son. It’s excitement mixed with dread, and it’s got his adrenaline pumping. Nerves are an unfamiliar emotion for him as a general rule, but then again everything about his secret adult son rocks him on his heels. Unlike war and politics, fatherhood is completely unfamiliar territory. And well, this is fatherhood with the Force and swords. It poses a high degree of difficulty.

Right now, the undercurrents of the Force betray the importance of this gathering. Its eddies and swirls rush about his mind. Are they harbingers of danger? Indications of change? Maybe those ripples reflect destiny unfolding? Vader can’t tell. The Force is more mysterious than ever today. It just serves to heighten his unease.

“It will be okay,” Astral murmurs without looking. She knows, of course, that he’s a mess behind the mask. “It will be okay . . . “ She squeezes his hand.

“I wish it was anyplace but here,” he grumbles back.

He finds this clandestine meeting in an ancient temple to be unnecessary. Not the subterfuge, of course. That is appropriate. It’s the Naboo countryside location that brings up old memories which bother him. And also, the sepulchral atmosphere that makes Vader want to roll his eyes. Yet here he is again, marching into the ritual chamber of a centuries old Sith temple to meet with the Darkest, wiliest Lord of the Shadow Force the galaxy has seen since Bane. Vader wouldn’t be here without the inducement of meeting Luke, of course. 

Looking around at the Kittat inscribed walls, Vader thinks this is a rather ironic spot for a summit of Skywalkers to discuss balancing the Force. The long dead Sith loyalists who built this place would be aghast at the blasphemy afoot.

“Lord and Lady Vader,” the old Muun is waiting as they step into the room. As expected, Darth Plagueis the Wise is not alone.

But Vader doesn’t see this. Rather, he hears Luke’s sword ignite. It’s a familiar and unmistakable snap-hiss that sends a chill down his spine. And wow, that was fast. At first sight of him, young Luke reaches for deadly force. 

Is it offense? Anticipatory defense maybe? Vader isn’t really sure as he turns his attention to his tense looking kid who steps forward from the shadows. Luke has constructed a new saber. Green this time. And ever since Dooku cut his arm off, Vader has hated green swords. But a threat is a threat and Astral is here to protect. So Vader answers the challenge and pulls his own weapon. It ignites to throb and hum in his hand.

“My Lord!” Astral gasps in surprise. She’s horrified. “Don’t—please don’t--"

“Yes, don’t,” Plagueis sighs. Luke is about to charge when Plagueis flicks his wrist and neatly pulls the sword from his grasp. Another flick of his wrist sends the boy crashing hard into the wall. “Desist!” the disapproving Muun orders with a pointed glare Vader’s own direction.

Disapproving Plagueis stalks forward with his lumbering gait to loom over Luke. He hurls the boy’s new sword to the ground at his feet with contempt. “Here is your first lesson: we use violence sparingly and we reserve it for our enemies.” 

Vader blinks behind his mask because that philosophy sounds nothing like the modus operandi of his star pupil Sheev Palpatine. 

His boy is on his feet now with Dark fire in his eyes and an accusing finger pointed right at him. “Vader is my enemy!”

“He is your father!” Plagueis hisses. “Never again will you pull a sword on him. And do not think to dare pull a sword on me again, boy. Do not start fights you cannot finish. You’re way outclassed here, young one, so watch and learn.” 

The old Muun whirls on him now. “Lord Vader, put it away!” he croaks. “We are allies, not enemies. Our interests converge. It is time to plot, rather than to fight.”

Vader deactivates his weapon, but Luke appears still willing to brawl. “What is he doing here? You never said he would be here! I told you--I’ll never join him!” His boy spits out rejection and it stings.

“Would you rather join his Emperor?” Plagueis counters calmly. “Because these are your choices: choose your family, choose Lord Sidious, or choose to die a half-trained Padawan.” The boy hesitates and the old Muun waves a skeletal finger under his nose. “You will find that your father is the far preferable choice.” 

Without saying a word, Astral leaves his side and crosses the room to collect Luke’s fallen lightsaber.

“Excellent idea, my dear,” Plagueis decides as he watches. And now, suddenly the Force plucks Vader’s own sword from his grip. It happens so fast that even his legendary reflexes don’t register in time to resist. Vader watches as his sword moves to hover before Astral. “Hold that for safekeeping, please,” the elder Sith instructs.

Astral grabs the floating weapon. She stands there off to the side clutching two lightsabers as the tense meeting that is really a standoff gets under way.

Plagueis continues his stage-managing. Given the dynamics, that’s probably a good thing. “Now then,” he begins, looking thoroughly annoyed, “Lord Vader is here to admit error in your prior meeting. He regrets any harm done to your friends. And he most sincerely regrets the harm done to you.”

He what?? Er . . . Vader didn’t know that he was here to officially apologize. As a rule, the Sith do not apologize, just like the Sith do not forgive. And twice now, the kid has been the one to draw his sword first and start the violence. So it’s not like he’s the only one in the wrong. Besides, the hand was an accident. Astral already told Luke that. She did the apology for him.

Plagueis clears his throat as a not-so-subtle hint. “Lord Vader sincerely regrets the loss of your hand,” the Muun prods him again with a glare.

Is that supposed to be his cue to grovel? Because he’s not the groveling type. No one told him that this meeting was supposed to begin with a command performance for humiliation. But everyone in the room is looking at him. Suddenly, Vader feels shy. Sure, in his mind he has made this apology many times, but now that the moment has come, he’s tongue-tied. It’s not that he’s not sorry—he is—but the words won’t come out. Not with that irritating Muun scowling at him and Luke looking like he wants to light his sword again for some mortal combat.

Uncomfortable Vader just stands there . . . but after a moment he nods. And that’s all he’s prepared to say on the topic right now.

“Your bounty hunter gave Han to Jabba the Hutt!” rages his son. Apparently, the loss of his hand is not as significant as the loss of his friend.

“Is this Han person alive?” the Muun intervenes.

“Yes, he’s alive. And in perfect hibernation,” Vader replies. He will not apologize for the treatment of that smuggler scum. He’s a criminal and a lackluster one at that.

“Excellent,” the Muun decrees. “Then I will buy back this Han fellow from Jabba the Hutt.”

“What?” gapes the boy.

“I have good relations with the Hutts. They understand credits and I have credits. Therefore, we understand each other. I will buy back this Han and the matter is resolved. I trust that the Alderaan princess and the wookiee are fine, yes?”

“Yes,” the boy grumbles as Vader wonders just how much Plagueis knows about the business at Bespin.

“Good. And how is Master Yoda these days?” Plagueis starts chatting like they are all friends. Like no one’s lost a hand, pulled a sword, or blown up a planet or a Death Star lately. “I sense Master Yoda less in the Force recently. Is he ill?"

“Ill?” The boy looks alarmed at this suggestion. Then Luke flushes slightly as though defensive. Or maybe a little guilty. “I have not seen my Master. I have been attempting to save my friend who Vader gave to a bounty hunter,” he grumbles.

“So you have not had an opportunity to ask Master Yoda about what we discussed?” Plagueis asks the question directly.

“No.” And now the boy looks very defensive. Does he fear to face his Jedi Master to hear the ugly truth? Or is he uncomfortable disclosing that he’s been hanging out with the Sith? Because that’s not the sort of thing old Yoda will receive well, Vader suspects.

“No, I haven’t seen Yoda.” Luke’s eyes find the floor.

“That is a pity,” Plagueis decides with remarkable understatement. 

Luke nods nervously. He just stands there eyeing the Muun for a moment. Then he blurts out another accusation. “He cut off my hand!”

“He’s sorry,” the Muun answers mildly. “We’ve been over that already.”

“He’s very sorry,” Astral chimes in now. “He’s very, very sorry for what happened.”

“He doesn’t look sorry,” Luke accuses.

“How can you tell?” Plagueis wonders aloud with the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lopsided lips.

Vader bristles at being made fun of for his mask.

“Well, Lord Vader, go ahead . . . say you’re sorry,” Plagueis again prods him like they are school children in a playground tiff and he’s the teacher adjudicating. And geez, it was just a hand, for Force sake. Merely a flesh wound as far as Vader is concerned. By the time he was Luke’s age, he had lost a whole arm.

But after Astral joins Plagueis and Luke in glaring at him, Vader sucks it up and awkwardly begins, “Luke, I did not mean to hurt you. I am sorry that I hurt you.”

But the kid immediately disavows, “That’s not enough! Sorry isn’t enough! I lost a hand!”

“Want revenge, Jedi?” the Muun asks archly. “My, my, young Skywalker, you are one of us, aren’t you?”

Luke looks horrified at that implication.

“Eye for an eye? Is that it?” Plagueis goads. “Well, too late. Dooku and Kenobi beat you to it. Anything you could hack off your father at this point wouldn’t be real anyway.”

And hey—that was kind of a low blow, Vader thinks. He’s offended. Really offended. He refuses to be mocked for his disabilities.

“Snoke,” Astral speaks up. “Please, let’s not start off this way.” As always, her voice is soft yet firm. She neatly establishes her role in today’s meeting. Astral will be the dampening rod between the trio of reactors who are the volatile Skywalker men.

Astral looks around worriedly as she holds a lightsaber hilt in each hand. “No one here is untouched by violence. This family has suffered enough. Stop turning on each other and focus on our real enemy, the Emperor. We’re here to kill the Emperor.”

“We can all agree on that, can we not?” Plagueis looks first to him and then to Luke.

Vader nods.

So does Luke.

It’s a fleeting moment of harmony. For Luke demands, “What’s your angle in all of this? What are you after? What happens once we kill the Emperor?”

Those are good questions. Vader looks to Plagueis expectantly. It’s his turn on the hot seat.

“My goals are to unite my family and to balance the Force. To bring peace and order to the galaxy at long last,” Plagueis says pleasantly.

It’s a nice sounding, if vague, answer and the boy calls him on it. “You are going to have to do better than that.” Luke Skywalker crosses his arms over his chest and suddenly looks very Padme. It’s disconcerting. “If we succeed, who are you in all of this? What’s your title if I’m ruling the galaxy with him?” Luke jabs a dismissive thumb Vader’s direction.

“Title? Why you may call me Grandfather,” Plagueis purrs. “Or Master, if you prefer.”

“What will the people call you?” Luke persists. Because, of course, his Old Republic loving Rebel kid cares about what the common folk think.

Plagueis ponders a moment. “I’ve always been fond of Supreme Leader.”

Did he say that with a straight face? He did. Vader doesn’t hold back. “That’s terrible.” Just terrible. “Like some petty potentate on a developing world in the Rim.”

“Or,” Plagueis shoots back, “like the preeminent practitioner of the Force. Like the man with the power of a god.”

“Then why not call yourself the Supreme Being?” Vader posits sardonically. “Since you’re a god in your own mind at least—“

“Do you want some lightning, son?” Plagueis growls out a threat. “Because right now, I am a wrathful god where you are concerned.”

“None of this sounds very democratic,” Luke observes sourly.

“Oh, democracy is fine,” Plagueis announces with maximum noblesse oblige. “Worlds can choose their own form of government on a system level. We will let the will of the little people prevail in small matters. But I insist that galactic level government be directed by our triumvirate. By men of the Force.”

“Led by Supreme Leader Snoke?” Vader has to stifle a laugh at how preposterous that mouthful sounds.

“Yes, and you’re dropping the ‘Darth.’ We are men of the future. No more monikers from the past.”

“Emperor Vader?” He likes the sound of that.

“Emperor Skywalker,” Plagueis corrects. “People will understand it better when they know who you were and what Luke’s relation is to you.”

That might be true, but it gives Vader pause. The name Anakin Skywalker brings up all sorts of issues. And so, reflexively he retorts, “That name no longer has any meaning for me.” It’s the name of a Jedi. The name of a hero. The name of a handsome young man with big ambitions and bold ideas. And that’s not who he is today. He’s a wreck of a man who barely hangs on some days and only has a fraction of his former Force. He’s old before his time thanks to years of depression and pain. Vader isn’t sure who he is now, but he damned sure isn’t Anakin Skywalker anymore. And that’s rather humiliating to face.

“Stop running away from yourself, my son,” Plagueis intones softly, almost like he’s reading his thoughts. Then, the disfigured Muun turns to Luke. “You too. Do not be afraid of who you were born to be.”

Young Luke bristles and then proclaims, “I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”

And now Vader truly detests that he wears a mask because his kid can’t see him rolling his eyes. “Luke,” he begins, “the Jedi were not the answer to the galaxy’s problems. There were never as good as they pretended to be.”

“Yes, yes,” Plagueis is impatient, “We’ve been over this before last time. You need to move on,” Plagueis informs the boy. “Your father did.”

“So the Jedi made mistakes . . . so they needed to reform . . . “ Luke will concede to that at least. “That’s no reason for him to murder them all—“

“And yet here you are discussing murdering a Sith?” Plagueis counters coolly.

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

“Palpatine is a tyrant who will never let go of power short of death.”

“Uhmmm . . . yes . . . “ Plagueis agrees sagely. “So true, so true. Tell me, Lord Vader, would the Jedi Council willingly relinquish their authority?”

“Hardly,” Vader snorts. “We called ourselves the fourth branch of government for the Republic. And don’t forget the Jedi tried to arrest the Chancellor.” So much for constitutional checks and balances.

“Well, there you have it,” Plagueis concludes, telling Luke, “You need to stop with this crusade to recreate the past. Let the past die.”

“The past didn’t die—he killed it!” Luke accuses.

Geez, his kid loves to assign blame. Vader speaks up now. “The Jedi are gone. Their fire has gone out of the universe. Soon, the Sith will fade away as well. It is time for a new era ushered in by our family,” he declares, borrowing some lofty rhetoric from Plagueis. Because if young Luke is anything like his own younger Jedi self, he will be a sucker for some altruism.

“But—“

The Muun cuts Luke off. “This is the way we will atone for our past excesses and make right our wrongs. By leading the galaxy into a better future. That’s what you said you wanted, did you not?”

“Well, yes . . . “ Luke shifts his feet uncertainly.

“Good. Are you with us?”

“I’m listening . . . “ Luke grumbles, looking very uncomfortable.

“Very well. Gentlemen, let us get down to business,” the elder Sith recalls them to the task at hand. “Our path forward is clear: Lord Sidious must die. Lord Vader will succeed him as Emperor and Luke Skywalker the Rebel hero will make peace with him publicly to reconcile the Alliance and the Empire. Lord Vader, you will make meaningful concessions to the Alliance and you will publicly apologize for your regime’s Death Star and for Alderaan.”

Again, with the apologies? And for Alderaan? He’s not apologizing for Alderaan. He’s not responsible for Alderaan. The Death Star was his Master’s brainchild and Tarkin’s baby all along. Vader crosses his arms and fumes some more.

The Muun must see his reluctance because he turns an impatient glance his way. “Lord Vader, if there is to be any deal with the Rebels, you will need to grovel on Alderaan. Blame Sheev all you like, but someone official needs to do the mea culpa on behalf of the Empire. The past excesses must be acknowledged before we can move forward. Together, you two must unify the galaxy so that you can rule it as father and son.”

“And what about you?” Vader growls. “What’s your role?” He’s suspicious about that Supreme Leader stuff. 

“I will be where I always am—in the background and in the Force,” the crafty old Muun says mysteriously.

“Pulling the strings?” Luke guesses.

“I prefer to think of it as leading from afar,” the Muun purrs and the Force fairly crackles to betray his duplicity.

Luke senses it too. “No deal!” The youth shakes his head and points straight at him. “I don’t trust you and I’m not making peace with him. He killed Obi-Wan!”

Ah, yes . . . Vader was wondering when they were going to get to that. If they stay here in this cold, damp temple long enough, his kid can get his entire litany of grievances off his chest. This feels weirdly like brokering an armistice while conducting a Jedi intervention in the midst of a family therapy session. Oh, and they are also plotting high treason. Just an average afternoon for the dysfunctional Skywalker clan, naturally.

“You killed him in cold blood! It was an execution!” Luke accuses hotly. He’s been mostly sullen this whole time since Plagueis threw him into the wall, but this issue clearly makes his blood boil over. His voice is choked with emotion. “You killed Ben!”

“Someone had to,” Plagueis deadpans and Vader smirks behind his mask. Clearly, the Muun is becoming weary with their bickering. “Your father had good cause for revenge. Would you like him to remove his mask to show you Kenobi’s handiwork?” And now Vader is not so keen on this line of argument. Plagueis keeps piling on about his infirmity and it’s irksome. It’s not like the Muun is easy on the eyes himself. No one who lives the Dark Side life remains pretty for long.

“Do you know how your father has suffered for Obi-Wan Kenobi? His body ruined and his son stolen and hidden from him only to emerge one day in blaze of terrorist glory. Your father is a proud man and he would not want you to see his weakness. But weak he is thanks to Kenobi.” The Muun slants the kid a sideways glance of withering reproach. “Count yourself lucky that you only lost a hand when you lost a duel. Your father lost three limbs and his skin to your sainted Jedi mentor.”

But still, his boy isn’t going for it. “I’m not selling out the Alliance for him!”

“You’d be doing it for the good of the galaxy,” Plagueis reminds him calmly, “and for the future. How many more lives do you want your revolution to claim, boy? We are offering a path forward to peace and unity. For the galaxy at a large and for us as a family. Those dead Jedi who you revere called themselves keepers of the peace, so this ought to be your thing. You will never get a better offer than this, so be quiet and listen.”

Watching that reprimand from old Plagueis is gratifying. His son needs to tone down the righteousness a bit, Vader thinks. Hopefully, his long-lost daughter—if they ever find her--will be more moderate than her brother. Luke Skywalker has an attitude that is depressingly Jedi.

The Muun now turns to him and tries to refocus everyone on the task at hand. “Sheev will be formidable to kill. Look what he did to me.”

“He says he is all the Sith now living within him,” Vader sighs.

Plagueis snorts. “That sounds like my old Apprentice talking. But this may take more than one attempt. Sheev may jump his consciousness to a host vessel.”

“One of his clones?” Vader surmises.

“Yes. Or even an object like the old Sith were fond of doing. It would be just like Sheev to haunt some relic or hide in a holochron like some evil genie in a bottle. But no matter. Force transfer is a good trick, but it’s not the same as immortality. We can still kill him if he Force transfers, never fear.” Still, the Muun frowns at this complexity. “Hopefully, we’ll get him on the first try. But for that, we need a good plan.”

“I have a plan. He’s building a throne room on his new Death Star,” Vader reveals.

“Is he now?” A slow, sly smile creeps across the elder Sith’s ruined face. It gives Vader a glimpse of the Dark mastermind who patiently plotted the downfall of the Republic a generation ago. “Excellent,” Plagueis rasps. “We will blow up the Death Star with Sidious on it. Two birds, one stone.”

Vader himself loves this idea. There will be a delicious irony to watching his Master be consumed by his own hubris, dying on his favorite weapon.

In fact, the Muun is a bit gleeful as he thinks it over. "Yes . . . yes . . . this is going to be fun,” he declares brightly, looking from him to Luke. “More fun than starting the Clone Wars."

Young Luke looks unconvinced. In fact, he looks increasingly terrified by the plot. “I haven’t committed to any of this,” he says under his breath, sort of like a pep talk to himself.

"You have misgivings?" Plagueis raises an eyebrow and it is a truly bizarre sight. "What is it that you need in order to be convinced? What do you require to join us?"

"Answers," his son scowls.

"Ask away." Plagueis sweeps his hand in a magnanimous gesture like the prince he pretends to be. 

The more time Vader spends around the old Sith Master, the more downright jovial the man seems. He is nothing like Vader had expected. And nothing like the practiced faux charm of his old Apprentice, the consummate politician Emperor. For one, Darth Plagueis seems to thoroughly enjoy the drama of their current situation. Vader stands here fretting and sweating while Luke looks ready to flee. But as far as Vader can tell, Plagueis alternates between deadly seriousness and a strange esprit de corps. He’s loving this and it shows. One glance at his son tells Vader that Luke Skywalker isn't impressed. His fears that his son and the Muun will plot against him are probably unfounded, Vader decides. His son looks far too skeptical and disapproving to double-cross him with Plagueis. 

“I want answers from him, not from you,” Luke Skywalker states. “So far, you’ve done all the talking.” And here come the uncomfortable questions, Vader thinks.

"What happened to Anakin Skywalker?" his son asks. 

Vader is annoyed by all the judgement in the kid’s tone. He waves a finger at his boy. "That name no longer has any meaning for--"

"Just answer the question. What happened that you fell to the Dark Side?" 

Vader’s eyes narrow behind his mask at this disrespect. Does the kid want to lose the other hand too? Because he's prepared to take off his left one if this attitude keeps up. Just dredging up these old memories puts him in a bad mood. But Vader tries to make nice as he sees Astral eyeing him.

"I was trying to save your mother. I had foreseen her death in the Force, just like my mother’s death. Sidious lied to me and said he could save Padme. Stupidly, I believed him and joined him on the Dark Side."

“I wish you had come to me, my son,” Plagueis does his version of ‘I told you so.’ “You know that I can keep people from dying,” he brags.

Luke ignores him. "How did my mother die?"

“Sheev drained her of the Force.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes,” Plagueis answers. “I’ll teach you both sometime,” he offers.

"So why did you stay Sith after she was dead?" Luke wants to know.

Why indeed? The real answer is that the Dark Side is addictive and power goes straight to your head. Plus, the Jedi were gone, his body was ruined and needed constant care, and there would be no opportunity to start over anyway. You don't exactly resign from the fraternity of the Sith. Moreover, Vader still wanted to make a difference in the galaxy. Being part of the new regime was his only chance to do so. He’s no quitter like his old Padawan Ahsoka. Vader is a realist who adapts to the situation he’s in. But how does he explain all that to his son who is an angry stranger to him? Vader settles on, "I believe in the goals of the Empire."

"Do you believe in its means?"

Again, Vader hears judgement in his son's tone. It irritates him and so his response is testy. "Not always. Sheev has a tendency to be harsh mostly because he’s a sadist and he likes that sort of thing. But I lived through the Clone Wars. The Jedi and the Republic allowed their scruples to keep them from doing what they needed to do to win the war. In the end, more people died. Shorter, more decisive conflicts are best. Keeping order keeps the peace."

"Even if that means you blow up Alderaan?" Luke goads him.

"I have long opposed the Death Star,” Vader answers without hesitation. 

“But not the occupations and the secret police? Not the assassinations and the disappearances?” The boy’s tone is biting.

“For a terrorist, you have a lot of scruples,” Vader snipes back. “When I was your age, it was the Separatists tearing the Republic apart. Now it’s your Rebellion trying to sow discontent.”

“We have no legitimate means of political reform,” Luke reminds him. “There is no change short of revolution thanks to you and your Emperor.”

“Which is why we are all here, are we not?” Plagueis doesn’t miss a beat as he attempts to corral them both. “We all desire change and we are uniquely positioned to make it. Now, have you further issues?” Plagueis complains to Luke.

The boy hesitates and that’s a yes. 

"What is it you want?” Plagueis sighs. “Money? I own a third of the wealth in the galaxy. Well . . . probably closer to forty percent in a good year for my equity holdings. But good year or bad year, it is more credits than you could ever spend."

"I don't care about credits," boasts the working class Tatooine farm boy. 

"That's very Jedi of you," Vader observes with derision. And he has standing since he's the only one here who was an actual Jedi who renounced all worldly goods. 

Plagueis smirks. "You were such a poor Light Side monk, my son. Take that in the best way." The Muun turns back to his grandson and asks, "Is it women then? You can keep a wife or keep a harem, and we will not care. That is your business. I will not even exercise veto power. I learned that lesson years ago with Sidious and his devotion to that Underworld whore." The Muun shudders and glances his way. "Sheev is still with that Cole woman, is he not?"

"Yes," Vader confirms. 

His son looks unimpressed by the latitude being offered, Vader sees. Plagueis realizes it too. "So not women either?" The elder Sith turns back to Vader and looks mystified briefly. "Are there other vices beyond credits and sex? Not for me." The Muun's eyes narrow as a thought occurs to him. "I disapprove of drugs. I will not let you abuse spice or whatever else young people are snorting or smoking these days."

Luke Skywalker just blinks at this concern. 

Vader too is blinking behind his mask. His own conversion to the Dark Side had been a long time in coming but it had happened fast. Palpatine had been his trusted mentor for years and his younger self had believed his Master's claim of cheating death through the Force. Then, Palpatine had been begging him to learn his forbidden knowledge and crowing about unlimited power. Before he knew it, he had cut off Mace Windu's arm and he was kneeling at the Chancellor's feet, pledging his loyalty and getting his Sith title. Sidious' pitch had been serious and focused on Dark power and violence. 

By contrast, watching Plagueis sway his son to their not-quite-Dark-but-not-so-Light-Side conspiracy for balance seems more like haggling over a business negotiation. Like when they are through, they will shake hands and execute a letter of intent on a treasonous conspiracy. And Plagueis, it seems, is anxious to close the deal. 

"Well, spit it out, boy. What do you want?"

"No more Death Stars," Luke responds.

"Done," Plagueis, Astral, and himself agree in unison. 

"A Senate," comes his son’s next demand.

Again, Plagueis agrees. "A Senate is an excellent idea. We will indulge in some democracy. Your friends Mon Mothma and Leia Organa can be at the helm to give it some authenticity. They’ll like that,” Plagueis decides. “It will give them something to do while we make the decisions.”

"Civil rights," the young Jedi adds to his list.

The Muun shrugs. "Sure, why not. Anything else?"

"Abolition of slavery in the Rim."

"Absolutely." The Muun is no fool. He knows his audience. Plagueis now quite grotesquely winks his direction and Vader cringes.

“Amnesty for all who fought in the Rebellion.”

“Yes, yes . . . “ The reformed Sith Master waves an impatient hand. “Naturally. We will pardon all political prisoners and combatants as part of the peace process. Your father will gladly empty his work camps of all the dissidents. Anything else?”

“Yoda lives.”

“No.” Darth Plagueis wisely draws the line there.

“No??” This instant refusal takes young Luke aback.

“No,” Plagueis repeats himself firmly. “Yoda dies.”

Hell, yes, Vader concurs silently behind his mask. That’s the smartest thing Plagueis has said this whole time. “He must be nine hundred years old by now,” Vader reasons, hoping to bridge the dispute. “Yoda’s going to die soon anyway.” And that argument cuts both ways, he realizes. But in any event, the old Jedi Master is a relic of the past who has long outlived his times. He’s a bad influence on Luke.

“He will stay in exile,” Luke counteroffers. “He will be a passive threat only.”

“He dies,” Plagueis doubles down on his decision. “Yoda long ago wronged my family—our family,” he amends. “I will spare you the details, but it is a personal matter between him and I, and he must answer for his crimes,” Plagueis contends. “I will not involve either of you. But I will have justice.”

“You mean revenge?” the young Jedi jeers.

“Call it what you wish. But Master Yoda is mine to deal with.”

Here then, is the deal breaker for Luke Skywalker. Perhaps the boy cannot bear to lose both of his Jedi mentors, Obi-Wan to himself and Yoda to Plagueis. Or perhaps the boy is not yet ready to break fully with the Jedi tradition. But there is no compromise on this matter. “I will not let you kill him!” Luke draws a line in the sand. “I will not bargain with my Master’s life.”

Darth Plagueis too is unwilling to bend. His wheeling and dealing stops and he simply stares in stony silence at the Luke while Vader looks on. 

After a moment, the boy steps back and nods gravely. “No deal then.”

“You would walk away from your family and from an Empire for Yoda?” Vader is incredulous. He had always found the ancient Jedi Master to be more annoyingly glib than truly wise. But it was bad politics in the Jedi Order to actually voice this opinion, so Anakin Skywalker had played along. 

“You would squander the best chance of peace the galaxy will have for generations? You wish to prolong this bloodshed?” the Muun lays on the guilt. Clearly, Plagueis knows his son’s altruism is his weakness. 

“Yes.” Luke Skywalker turns on heel and begins to walk out. “We’re done here. There is nothing left to discuss.”

“Young fool!” Plagueis hisses.

That provokes Luke. He whirls. “This isn’t just Yoda. This is you . . . both of you. Because I don’t hear anything about freedom or justice. All I hear is talk of power.” He shakes his head in derision. “Both of you lusting for power like the Sith you are! You talk about balancing the Force, but all you’re really doing is consolidating power.”

“Luke, please . . .” It’s Astral speaking up.

But Luke merely approaches her to take back his weapon. “Goodbye,” he mumbles some pretense at politeness for her sake. And there is a glimpse of the farm boy who his teachers described as respectful and nice, Vader remembers.

“Just think about it some more,” Astral wheedles. “Please don’t be hasty—”

“I still need you to blow up the Death Star,” Vader calls after his fast retreating kid.

Luke turns to shoot him a look that would freeze water on Tatooine.

There is silence now as he, Astral, and Plagueis watch Luke leave in a huff.

"Young fool," Vader shares the Muun’s assessment when the kid is gone. 

"Indeed," Plagueis agrees. "I foresaw this meeting but I didn’t think it would end like this. Tell me, can you speed up progress on this new Death Star? We might be able to kill Sheev with that weapon,” Plagueis posits.

“I’m not giving Coruscant the Alderaan treatment,” Vader immediately objects as Astral looks alarmed.

“Then perhaps we can lure him to another location.”

“It won’t work.”

“It might.”

“He never leaves his palace.”

“He might if he thought he could kill me in the process.”

“What do you mean?” Vader demands.

“I mean we let Sheev think he’s luring me into a trap but the trap is really for him. He knows how well I project in the Force, so it would need to be a good ruse. Perhaps I should really let him kill me . . . that will put my immortality to the test, eh? Let me think on it,“ Darth Plagueis muses.

“In the meantime, what do we do about Luke?” Astral wants to know as she crosses the room to join his side.

"We will let that idealistic hothead calm down a bit and consider our offer,” Plagueis decides. “Lord Vader, if he seeks you out, bring him to me."

"I can handle the boy," Vader replies stiffly. He’s irked by the Muun’s open distrust and discouraged by the turn things have taken. If he and Luke can’t be in the same room together for half an hour, how can they possibly rule the Empire together?

"Whatever you do, do not bring him to Sheev."

"I'm no fool."

"It might be unavoidable. Be careful. If Sheev gets you both in the same room, you are a dead man, my son. My Apprentice will choose the boy over you." The Muun frowns and thinks a moment. "We may have to kill Sheev first and then recruit the boy. It is not my preferred approach, but it might be necessary."

That prospect holds minimal appeal to Vader. He doesn't trust this Muun. Plagueis might kill Sidious and steal his role as Emperor. This leading from afar business he claims does not inspire confidence. And there is no guarantee that Luke will ever join them in the end. Vader would be taking an awful risk just to exchange one Sith Master for another. 

This is all about Luke Skywalker, Vader decides. His son is the only thing worth the risk of changing Masters. Vader isn't going to act with Plagueis unless the boy is part of the deal. But the Muun doesn't need to know that. 

Vader voices aloud his concerns. "That boy belongs with me. But he will be hard to persuade." 

"His compassion for you will be his undoing," Plagueis observes softly.

Vader looks up, surprised at this remark. "He hates me." 

"He wants to relate to you. He wants to understand you." The old Muun continues with his quiet insight. 

"He hates me," Vader sighs. His son chose death at Cloud City rather than to join him. And today, his son chose Master Yoda over ruling the galaxy with him. The rejection is humiliating. Vader doesn’t know why, but his son’s approval matters to him. He’s tired of being judged wanting by everyone from Sidious to Plagueis to the Rebellion to his son. Whether he is Anakin Skywalker or Darth Vader, he has been the subject of constant criticism. It grates on him. Just for once, it would be nice to meet someone’s expectations. Or maybe even exceed them. 

"He fears becoming you,” the Muun observes, sounding a lot like Astral. “But in the end, he will come around. He’s a smart boy.”

Vader isn't so sure. The Muun’s strategy of promising his boy money and women had missed the mark widely. “Does that mean you are willing to concede on Yoda?”

“No. Killing Yoda is more than my own vengeance. It is the principle of the matter. No one can balance the Force by insisting that a bastion of the Jedi Order lives. There is always sacrifice for change. Master Yoda will be the price your boy pays for his power.” The Muun thinks a moment. “Perhaps there can be a compromise if Yoda lives, but I strip him of his Force like he did my wife . . . “

“Fine,” Vader agrees. He’s willing to give on the Yoda point if that’s the price to pay to get his son by his side. 

“Do not despair, Lord Vader. Today held some promise. Luke Skywalker is still very young. He is not used to the responsibility of being a leader. He still thinks he’s a nobody thrust into the spotlight. In time, he will become more confident and less dependent on figures like Yoda in his life.”

Vader is unconvinced. And on the whole, he is disappointed and discouraged. This feels a bit like Bespin all over again.

“That boy has gone everywhere looking for his missing father. To your step-brother, to Kenobi, and now to Yoda. Our task is to help him realize that the guidance and approval he seeks is here for the taking. That is when we will have him. Mark my words, Lord Vader, his curiosity for you will be his undoing. Luke Skywalker will be back.”

Vader nods and strives to be hopeful. “Then, we will wait.”

Astral speaks up to dissent. “I don’t want to wait.”

“He’s not ready to commit,” Plagueis warns. “If we chase him and pressure him, it may backfire.”

Vader agrees, but Astral persists. “Why don’t we approach the Rebellion directly?”

“Go around Luke?” Vader frowns at the suggestion.

“No, we’ll need him to get in the door. But if we get an audience with the Rebel leaders, they might be keen on moving forward even if he isn’t.”

“Let them exert some pressure on Luke for us, you mean?” Vader asks.

“Yes,” Astral nods. “The Rebels are his family now, I fear. They will have the most influence.”

Vader has to concede to her wisdom. Heretofore, Astral has mostly been a silent observer but now she’s an active participant. She lifts her chin and digs in. “I’m not giving up on this plan. This is too good a chance to waste.”

Plagueis practically beams at her. “Now, there’s the persistence that convinced me to loan out my favorite paintings to the Alderaan Museum of Modern Art.”

“That took years,” Astral reminds him. “We don’t have that long before the Emperor starts to use his new Death Star. We need to destroy that Death Star.”

There is her motivation in a nutshell. This cause is as much her cause as it is his cause, Vader knows. Astral wants the weapon gone and Sheev deposed independent of his own predicament as Apprentice. Sure, he’s part of it. Astral doesn’t much care for the Force, but she does care for him. Plus Vader suspects Astral also wants to reunite what’s left of their family since it’s the only kin she has left. It all combines to give them overlapping reasons to accomplish the same goals. Astral’s not standing by her man so much as getting what she wants too.

“It could work . . .” the Muun considers her suggestion, “and it would take the pressure of the decision-making off his shoulders alone. Do you think he would get you a meeting with Mon Mothma?”

“We can ask,” comes Astral’s reply. “But we should probably limit the objective to destroying the Death Star. Er . . . back off on the whole ruling the galaxy bit.”

“Agreed.”

Vader raises another issue. "What about the girl? You know who my girl is," he accuses to Plagueis. It’s an educated guess.

The Muun de facto confirms his hunch. "Leave her to me."

“No!” he growls back.

“Lord Vader, it is best that you let me handle her. Let this matter go for now. Focus on Luke.”

“She’s my daughter!” He wants her back. Before Sheev learns of her and finds her and she ends up either dead or used as a pawn. Or maybe Luke finds her and drags her into his revolution and makes her a hunted fugitive like himself.

“Trust me on this, my son,” Plagueis argues softly and now Vader’s suspicions are especially heightened.

“Where is she? Who is she?” he demands with real menace.

Astral piles on as well. “My Lord, please tell us.”

Darth Plagueis considers a long moment. 

“Please, Snoke, tell us,” Astral tries again. And if Vader didn’t know better, he’d think his wife has that old Muun wrapped around her little finger.

Her plea works. He relents. “You have met her. On several occasions, I believe."

Is Plagueis being coy? "Who is she?" Vader demands again. Does Plagueis sense his determination? He must because the old Sith now casually drops a bombshell on his unsuspecting self.

"If she’s who I think she is, then your daughter--my granddaughter in the Force--is Alderaan's Princess Leia Organa."

“Really??” Astral exclaims her happy shock.

He is far less enthused. “Fuuuuck . . . “ Vader sighs. He didn’t think it was possible, but things just got more complicated.


	35. chapter 35

“Hello.” Luke Skywalker says the greeting perfunctorily. He doesn’t look happy to see her. In fact, he looks terribly nervous even though the Rebel cruiser she’s just docked on is his home turf. She’s the one who has voluntarily arrived to the enemy to talk treason.

Astral is taking an awful risk today. But gamely, she flashes a smile. “Hello.”

Luke looks her over slowly, and makes no further comment. It tells Astral that she has executed on Snoke’s advice to make sure the Rebels know they are hosting Lady Vader. Astral had worried that the sweeping black hooded cape and matching dress were too much. That the look was too dramatic, too formal, too ostentatiously expensive. But she had dutifully followed orders. Give them what they expect to see, old Darth Plagueis had instructed, show them an Empress. They’ll think twice about imprisoning you if you look like you belong to Lord Vader. At every glance, you should remind them of who they’re dealing with and whose terrible revenge they will risk by harming you.

It’s somber and intimidating attire that is a far cry from the casual khaki culottes and tunic Astral wore to sweat in the sand on Tatooine. Gone too is the colorful scarf shielding her ponytail from the harsh twin suns. Astral is as coiffed and made up as she’s ever been. Not that Luke can see from beneath her voluminous satin lined hood. As it is, Astral can’t see a thing out of her peripheral vision.

Luke spits out news. “We’re not meeting with Senator Mothma.”

Astral feared as much, but she still presses, “Why not?”

“She’s busy. We’re seeing another Senator instead.”

Some gatekeeper probably, Astral surmises. This might be a first meeting in which she has to impress a trusted aide before she can gain access to the Rebel high command. Either that, or this is some form of courtesy meeting to tell her no and send her on her way.

Luke now points to the box she holds. “What’s that?”

“A peace offering.” Astral declines to say more.

He looks intrigued but doesn’t inquire further. “This way,” Luke conducts her out of the busy hangar bay where many curious eyes watch them.

“Are you armed?” he asks under his breath as they walk shoulder to shoulder.

“No.”

“Comlink or datapad?”

“No.”

“Tracker?”

“No.”

“So you are completely untraceable?”

“Yes. Go ahead and scan me, I’m clean. I am at your mercy.”

Luke mutters back, “This is brave of you.”

“I am trusting you.” Astral lets that sink in for a few paces before she glances over to add, “He is trusting you.”

“No one will harm you.”

“Good,” she responds with more bravado than she feels, “because I have powerful friends.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Luke grumbles a little too quickly and far too defensively. It betrays the lie.

Astral plays along to save the kid’s ego. “Then be afraid of your grandfather. Everyone is terrified of your grandfather, your father included.”

“I’ll remember that. Why are you doing this?”

Why is Astral is continuing her self-appointed role as go-between for the Skywalker men? It’s mostly because Darth Vader has gotten himself cornered by his own anxious masculinity and his horrible mistake at Bespin. It’s all rooted in the misgivings her husband has about his role as the Chosen One, she suspects. The always decisive and ruthlessly efficient man the galaxy knows as Darth Vader hides a lot of deep seeded personal insecurities. And, unfortunately, the emergence of Luke Skywalker has brought several of them to the forefront. But that’s not an answer Astral can give. So she settles on, “Because I love your father and I want to see our family unite for the good of the galaxy.”

Luke looks around furtively and hisses, “No one here knows he’s my father.”

“I understand.” Astral seizes on another chance to build trust. She assures Luke, “I will keep our secret.”

“If people here knew, it would make things very hard for me.”

“I understand.”

“Don’t expect too much from today. Everyone hates him. No one trusts him.”

Astral stops walking now. It forces Luke to halt as well. “Tell me you don’t hate him,” she whispers.

Luke says nothing.

“You shouldn’t hate your father. Disagree with him . . . condemn what he has done . . . be angry with him . . . but don’t hate him. Please . . . don’t be like all the rest . . . ”

Again, Luke says nothing.

It makes Astral rally to her husband’s defense. “You know, you might ask him why he made the choices he has made. Or maybe why he committed the acts you disapprove of. The Emperor might use him publicly as a blunt instrument, but he’s not a brute. Your father has reasons for his actions. Put aside your anger for a moment to listen to his truth. At least learn his perspective.”

Luke looks away. “I listened enough on Naboo.”

“No, you didn’t,” Astral chides gently. “Luke, you lit a sword the moment you saw him.”

The kid has the good grace to flush a little at his rookie mistake.

“Just talk to him—”

“No!” The word comes out almost reflexively. Luke is afraid, she sees. Afraid of his father and afraid of the truth. This young man is neither arrogant nor prideful, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to see his revered Jedi mentors tarnished further in his eyes. He’d rather cling to their teachings, however incomplete they are. And perhaps that’s understandable given all his disillusionment so far. But there’s too much at stake to let this chance pass.

“Just talk to him—"

“This balancing the Force business is all wrong,” her stepson now counters. “It’s just a justification for evil. There is Light and there is Darkness. You must choose your side.”

“Why?”

“Why??” Luke blinks and frowns. “Because there is right and there is wrong.” He says this like it’s self-evident. Like right and wrong are obvious in every situation.

But not to Astral. If fact, the more life experience she gets, the more murky right and wrong seem. “Who decides that?” she challenges. “Who decides what is right and what is wrong?”

“No one. Everyone knows it . . . whether they will acknowledge it or not.” Luke shoots her a look of reproach as he hurries her along. “Come on. They’re waiting.”

They resume walking now. “So . . . the Rebels are good and the Empire is bad?” Astral persists.

“Around here, we prefer to be called the Alliance.”

“Alright, the Alliance then. Are you the good guys?” It’s a serious question.

“Yes.”

“And so all those people on the Death Star you blew up—“

“They were the bad guys,” Luke confirms.

“And yet, you might have been one of them. He’s got all your school records. I saw that you had to withdraw your application for the local academy twice—“

“That’s different. I didn’t know any better back then.”

“And all those people on the Death Star—you’re sure they all knew better when they joined up?”

Luke won’t be baited. “Look, I know where you are headed with this. Moral relativism can’t excuse Darth Vader. He is wrong and he has done terrible things. And you’re here to talk about killing more people on another Death Star, remember?” The young Jedi is flustered, Astral sees. He’s resentful of her cross examination and unwilling to equate his own actions with his father’s.

They soon reach a shut door. “We’re here,” Luke announces as he enters a security code. The door slides open to reveal a small meeting room with a table and chairs. Standing off to the side is a tall, slightly grizzled looking blonde man with a buzzcut who looks Astral over with undisguised suspicion.

“This is General Draven,” Luke makes the introduction.

“General,” Astral nods politely. “Thank you for meeting with me.” Copying Snoke’s trademark gesture, she reaches up to toss back her hood, hoping she conveys as much gravitas as her Muun father-in-law. But really, she wore the hood in hopes it would obscure her features from any security cameras with facial recognition technology.

Now that she is revealed, the Rebel general eyes her some more. He’s about her age, maybe a few years older. Definitely a contemporary of Lord Vader. That means this man, like her husband, came of age at the end of the Republic. It was a time when the Clone Wars raged and the galaxy’s long revered institutions failed. There were heroes on both sides, Darth Vader once remarked of those bloody years of civil war. Astral wonders now if General Draven was one of those heroes. And if he was, was he a Separatist or a Republic soldier?

The General crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at her. “When Skywalker told us he had been meeting with an informant, we didn’t expect you.”

“Things are not always what they seem,” Astral responds calmly. She’s come prepared for a chilly reception and she’s anticipating skepticism.

“You seem fairly straightforward, at least on the surface.” The General now reads from a datapad that evidently contains a Rebel dossier on her. “Astral Sidhu . . . formerly with the Alderaan Museum of Modern Art . . . now you peddle sculptures to fancy Core world moguls?”

“That’s right.”

“You’ve got an expensive apartment on Coruscant, a brand-new speeder, and a hefty bank account. Nights at the opera . . . Saturday afternoons spent shopping . . . lots of work-related cocktail parties . . . Looks like it’s nice to be Missus Vader. You live well.”

“Yes.”

Draven tosses aside the datapad onto the empty table. His lip is curled with undisguised distaste. “Does it bother you that those credits are blood money?”

That’s her opening. Astral moves to place the case she’s holding onto the table. She deploys the lock with her thumbprint. The box opens to reveal neatly stacked credit cards. Astral turns back to Luke and Draven. She gestures to the cash. “Consider this a down payment to make amends.”

It’s a small fortune. This is the covert funding for the Rebellion that Astral first proposed to Lord Vader’s disdain and dismay. But he came around to the idea once this meeting came together. He and Snoke agreed that they need a grand gesture for their first overture to the Rebel leaders.

“The cards are all generic and untraceable,” Astral assures the two men. “Each is funded with small amounts so they will deposit and spend easily without attracting undue attention.”

“How much?” the General asks.

She names the sum and watches as he pretends not to be impressed. Farm boy Luke Skywalker doesn’t succeed as well with his poker face. He’s got the ‘gee whiz’ look of a kid for whom every credit had to be earned with hard work.

But if anything, her gift earns her more suspicion, not less. “We didn’t know you existed. I guess that was the point. Why don’t you live at the fancy Palace?” Draven wants to know as his eyes narrow.

Astral’s answer is candid. “I like my independence. Besides, he’s never there. I live quietly under the radar, as you apparently now know.”

“How do we know you’re even her? You could be an imposter. This could be a ruse. You could be anyone sent here to gather intelligence and report back.”

“That’s true,” Astral concedes. “You’ll have to trust me. Like I’m trusting you. There is risk on both sides,” she reminds him.

Luke speaks up now to vouch for her. “She’s who she says she is.”

The door slides open and a fast-moving young woman darts in to interrupt. It’s Alderaan’s young Senator, the Princess Leia Organa. “Sorry I’m late. What’s this?” she blinks at all the cash lying on the table.

“A little gift from Darth Vader,” the General explains as he shoots the Princess a very cynical look. He gestures to Astral. “Meet Missus Darth Vader. She’s come to pay the Alliance a social call.”

Leia Organa looks up at Astral and then slowly works her way down. Astral instinctively knows that her Coruscant couture finery is lost of the two men present, but not on Alderaan’s Crown Princess. Leia Organa probably knows exactly which designer made this dress and how much it costs. The Princess makes no attempt to hide her slow, silent perusal as she sizes Astral up.

For her part, Astral is a little starstruck. So this is Lord Vader’s anonymous daughter--her stepdaughter-- standing mere feet away in the flesh. Has her good friend Luke Skywalker dared to confide his true parentage to the Princess? And if so, does Leia Organa know her own origins? If not, could she suspect? Could Luke suspect? Or, are brother and sister in the dark about one another? Brought together by a common cause and—as her Sith Lord husband would say—by the Force. Because according to Darth Vader, there are no coincidences and there is no such thing as luck. There is only the will of the Force.

“This is Astral Sidhu,” the General supplies her actual name now.

Astral’s own first impression is that Leia Organa is even prettier in person than she is on the holonet. Feminine and petite even wearing a utilitarian Rebel jumpsuit that matches her brother’s. She has big brown eyes and delicate features that right now are shaped in a frown. Her welcome could not be more cool, and that’s understandable. After all, Astral is here on behalf of the man who did a painful mind interrogation on the Princess during her Death Star detention. Then, Darth Vader froze her boyfriend in carbonite and gave him to a bounty hunter. The only reason Leia Organa escaped a second round of torture on Bespin is because Lord Vader had wrongly assumed that she was Luke’s love interest. He misjudged the closeness between brother and sister shown in Snoke’s surveillance photographs for romance. So, naturally, this Princess is inclined to hate her as an extension of her husband.

That’s why, as intriguing as this chance meeting might be, Astral would much rather be seeing Senator Mothma than Senator Organa. Things are far too personal with this young woman. Astral worries that means Leia Organa will not be objective in her analysis of the proposed plan.

“Ms. Sidhu,” Leia Organa’s voice is clipped and her nod curt.

“Princess,” Astral inclines her head in return. “Well, I guess you’re my queen now.” Astral rethinks her choice of words and tries again with more appropriate reverence, “Your pardon, your royal highness.”

Leia Organa looks confused by this sudden formality from Astral of all people.

“She claims to be from Alderaan,” General Draven explains.

“I am from Alderaan,” Astral speaks up. “I was born and raised there and lived there until . . . “ Her voice trails off.

“Until your husband blew it up?” the Princess supplies the punchline. Her tone is unforgiving. Things are not off to a good start.

The General piles on. “How convenient that you weren’t there that day—“

“I was on my way back home. I was escorting paintings for a new exhibit at the museum. I never made it home . . . Had I been home, I would be dead now too.” Astral can’t quite keep the sadness and resentment from her tone. Over a year later, the destruction of her homeworld is still so upsetting. “I would be dead now like most everyone I ever knew . . . “

“Where did you go?” the General wants to know. “The Coruscant apartment you live in was only purchased a year ago.”

“I went to Coruscant briefly and then to the castle.”

“What castle?”

“Castle Vader.”

“Sounds nice. Where is that?” Leia Organa probes.

“The Rim.”

“What system?” the Princess presses.

Astral is not about to compromise her husband’s private refuge. She answers, “A Rim system,” and the Rebels let the point drop.

She is beginning the understand the meeting dynamics now. The General and the Princess are the bad cops in this interview. Luke’s not exactly the good cop, Astral judges. He’s more like the silent cop so far. And there is no pretense of a cordial welcome. No one has even invited Astral to sit down. Already, this is starting to feel a lot like that uncomfortable standoff in the temple on Naboo.

“Why are you here?” General Draven asks. He gestures to the fortune in credits laying on the table. “What’s all this really about?”

The preliminaries are over, apparently. It’s time to get down to business. Well, here goes. Astral makes her pitch. “I’m here because Lord Vader and I want to rid the galaxy of our tyrant Emperor.” Astral meets Luke’s eyes as she quietly proclaims. “Lord Vader is as much controlled as the rest of the galaxy is. The Emperor is the real bad guy.”

Her stepson curls his lip and speaks up. “He is complicit.”

Astral replies quickly. “Not the way you think.”

“So Darth Vader wants to mount a coup?” the Princess cocks her head to one side and puts a hand on one hip. Her pose portrays her skepticism.

Astral answers, “Yes, that’s right. The credits here are to finance the operation.”

She wonders does Leia Organa have the Force? Probably not, or Darth Vader would have noticed. Or maybe Luke would have noticed. Astral isn’t sure how the mysterious, magical Force manifests itself. She has listened to her husband describe it many times, but she still doesn’t get it. She knows she never will. But she very much hopes her secret step-daughter has the Force so Leia Organa will sense how genuine she is. Lord Vader always says the Force betrays a liar. Astral wants the Princess to know that she is sincere.

“Let me guess--if the coup fails, he blames it on the Alliance? But if it succeeds, he puts himself in charge?” Leia Organa exchanges looks with General Draven. Then they both look to Luke.

Luke says nothing. They agreed not to discuss his role in the leadership going forward. It’s too difficult to justify his position without revealing his relationship to Lord Vader.

So Astral leads with her most persuasive points. “He wants to bring back a Senate. To institute reforms.”

“I’ll bet.” The General crosses his arms again and looks down his nose at Astral. “And how does this coup happen?”

“I told Luke that there’s another Death Star under construction.”

Draven nods. “Commander Skywalker told us.”

“When the Emperor visits his new weapon, you blow it up. No more Death Star. No more Emperor,” Astral summarizes succinctly.

“All with help from Darth Vader?” the Princess now reveals she has her father’s penchant for sarcasm.

Astral takes the question at face value. “Lord Vader will tell you everything you need to know. He’ll help you.”

“I don’t believe it,” the General decides.

Thankfully, Luke speaks up. “She’s telling the truth,” the young Jedi vouches for her again. “This plan is legitimate.”

Beside him, his puzzled looking secret sister slowly concurs. “I agree.”

Astral takes that endorsement and runs with it. “The Emperor is half insane. He’s obsessed with his new Death Star and determined to use it--”

“No one doubts he will use it,” the General interrupts.

Astral implores the Princess. “We have to stop him or other star systems will suffer the fate of Alderaan.”

“We can all agree on that,” Leia Organa replies dryly. “Just tell us the system and we’ll blow it up ourselves. With these credits, of course.”

That’s basically the plan. Encouraged, Astral continues, “He’ll give you the go ahead once he knows when the Emperor will be there.”

“We’re not waiting that long,” the Princess counters. “It’s too risky. We can’t let him get another one operational.”

“Yes, but we only get one chance at this. The timing is everything. You’ll never kill Palpatine on your own,” Astral warns.

“Sure, we will. He bleeds like anyone else,” Draven dismisses her concern.

That attitude provokes Astral to some vehemence of her own. “No, you won’t! You’ll never do it! Your young Jedi here will never do it. No one can do it without help on the inside. The Emperor’s Palace on Coruscant is a fortress and he never leaves it. Don’t you see--this is the first real chance in twenty years to take out Sheev Palpatine. It’s impossible to get to him any other way.”

“Let’s be clear,” Leia Organa snaps, “you want us to take out the Emperor so Vader can get promoted? That’s the plan?? Why should we help him?”

“He’s helping you,” Astral argues back. “Once we get rid of the Emperor, he will cut a deal.”

“He’s offering a Senate,” Luke dutifully tells his colleagues. “Self-government at the system and local levels. No more superweapons . . . civil rights . . . amnesty for the Alliance. We get people in important positions.”

“Yeah? I didn’t hear freedom on that list. Or justice,” General Draven points out sourly. “We’d be exchanging one tyrant for another.”

The Princess shares his cynical assessment. “Vader is promising to ban super weapons? I don’t believe it. I was there when he used the last one.” Leia Organa shakes her head dismissively.

“He didn’t give that order. Moff Tarkin did.”

“He didn’t exactly dissent,” the Princess snaps. 

“Maybe not in front of you, but he did later to the Emperor,” Astral reveals. “Sheev Palpatine almost killed him for it. He spent months recovering. Where was Darth Vader in the weeks after the Death Star? The media was speculating, remember? I’ll tell you where he was—in a hospital bed in terrible pain.”

Astral turns to fix Luke with a meaningful look. “Do not underestimate the power of the Emperor. Do not squander this chance. Together, we can accomplish what neither of us can do alone. Luke,” Astral urges, “this could change everything for the better.”

The young man looks down and away, refusing to meet her eyes. There is a haunted quality to his expression that only Astral understands. For this is more than just a military and political decision for Luke Skywalker and he knows it. This is a personal decision that could be the first step to reconciling with his fearsome father. It’s the same for Leia Organa, although she appears wholly ignorant of the subtext of this negotiation.

In fact, she speaks up tartly. “We took out a Death Star for Vader once already. Let me tell you what preceded that day—a whole lot of people died as Vader chased down those plans. Did he tell you that he almost got them? He swung his sword killing people left and right down a crowded hallway as our people scrambled to smuggle out the datafiles. Vader killed a lot of people indiscriminately and gruesomely. And then, to stop the security breach on Scarif and to keep us from learning more of the Empire’s secrets, he turned the Death Star on the base. He killed his own men in order to stop us!” The Princess now pauses a moment to let her words sink in. “So you’ll have to understand how skeptical we are to hear that Vader wants to take out another Death Star. This looks more like a trap. He wants to use our desire to kill the Emperor to get us to mass our ships for a final battle. Right now, the Imperial forces are spread thin chasing us all around the galaxy. But this scheme takes care of that problem by getting us to corral ourselves.”

“This isn’t a trap,” Astral answers firmly. “This is the best chance you’ll ever get to kill the Emperor.”

“So we can replace him with Darth Vader who will no doubt exterminate the rest of the Alliance afterwards to solidify his power? Come on--he’s as ruthless as they come.”

The princess uses an especially sharp tone. Well, every time she has spoken thus far, she has used fast and biting words. She is a very intelligent young woman who tells it like it is, with no bother for a filter. It’s . . . well, it’s a lot like her father. It’s also a lot to take from one so young, even if she is a Senator and a princess. But Astral supposes that like all young, beautiful women, Leia Organa probably merits some leeway in life. Beautiful women can get away with being overly aggressive and demanding. With being petulant or harsh. An ordinary woman would be off-putting with that attitude. She would be called overbearing, not spirited. She would alienate others, especially men. But not Leia Organa. She somehow manages to have charisma with her trademark firebrand rhetoric that is a mix of condemnation and principle. She pulls off the feat of seeming to be a gracious radical.

Watching her now reminds Astral of the many old holonet clips she has watched of Padme Amidala Naberrie. If the politics were different, Astral thinks, Lord Vader would adore his daughter. She’d be the daddy’s girl of the Empire, instead of his dogged holonet troll.

But there will be no convincing the Princess today, Astral decides. So she appeals first to Draven. “General?”

He shakes his head.

Then, she appeals to her step-son. “Luke?”

“This isn’t my decision,” he replies. It’s a punt, and they both know it. In many ways, Luke Skywalker’s decision is the only decision that matters.

Absorbing the rejection, Astral feels her heart sink. This started off badly and she hasn’t made any headway. Lord Vader warned her this was the likely outcome.

Everyone talks about bridging divides and reaching out to opposing sides. But in reality, that’s mostly rhetoric. When it does happen, it’s usually after there is an established winner and loser. The person reaching out has the upper hand and the other party knows it. It’s why peace so often emerges after a war, not before it.

Moreover, peace takes incredible risk. For who but a foolish optimist would trust their arch enemy? No one does that if they can avoid it. Bitterness and distrust are insidious things. They gnaw at the best of intentions and chip away at hope. The Sith believe peace is a lie, Lord Vader once told her. But peace is not a lie, peace is just very, very hard, Lord Vader lamented. Hard to achieve, and easy to squander.

Well, blessed are the peacemakers, Astral thinks, for they have a thankless task. They rightly are called the children of the Force, like the old saying goes. But that is who Lord Vader actually is—a child of the Force. So if anyone can bring peace, he ought to be able to do it. Maybe that’s what the whole Chosen One story is really about—making peace through balancing the Force. So Astral now girds her resolve and tries to do her part. She needs to at least get a meeting with Mon Mothma in follow-up to today.

She argues her case hard. “Lord Vader could give you back much of the old Republic. A galactic Senate and local self-government. Guaranteed civil rights and reforms. A free press. No more police state. No more living in fear. There will be freedom again in the galaxy. No more military occupations and superweapons.”

Neither the Princess, the General, nor Luke looks convinced. It’s not that they don’t want these things, Astral knows. It’s that they don’t believe Darth Vader will bring them. His hands are too bloody from decades as the Emperor’s chief henchman.

“You won’t get another opportunity like this. Don’t you want peace?” Astral half wails. She can hear the disappointment in her own voice. “Lord Vader can give you peace,” she promises.

Leia Organa is principled in her reply. “Of course, we want peace. But we also want justice. There is no peace without justice, and no one trusts Vader to bring justice. Vader’s part of the problem, not the solution.”

She’s wrong, Astral fully believes, but she can understand this perspective. Most especially because of this young woman’s personal experience with her estranged secret father.

For his part, Luke Skywalker remains maddeningly silent.

The General ends the meeting there. He nods to Luke. “Commander Skywalker will show you to your ship.” Draven glances at the box full of credit cards. “Leave the cash. We accept your gift.”

Astral sighs and complies. “Very well, then. Thank you for at least hearing me out.” This interview was only ever a perfunctory meeting, she realizes. The Princess and the General were never open to persuasion. Their minds were already made up.

Still, Astral argues for a second hearing. “I would still very much like to speak with Senator Mothma,” she requests.

“I think we both know that won’t happen,” the General shoots her down.

“We speak for her,” Leia Organa adds. “We have her full authority in this matter.”

Astral eyes the hostile looking Princess a moment, debating whether to persist. She declines. Instead, Astral murmurs, “May the Force be with you,” as she pulls up her hood. Then, she follows Luke from the room in a sweep of black velvet befitting Lady Vader.

“Why do you say that?” Luke complains when they are in the hallway alone. “It’s a Jedi blessing.”

“Your father says it,” Astral answers simply.

It’s not the answer he’s expecting. Luke immediately changes the topic. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed. I know you mean well.” He actually looks a little shamefaced.

Does the Force tell him how discouraged she is? Or does her face betray her strong sense of failure? Either way, Luke’s right. Astral endeavors now to salvage something of the situation. She tells Luke, “He’s already leaked the Death Star information. The Bothans will get it eventually. You’re going to need to take out the weapon on your own.”

“We can do that.”

“We’re all counting on that.” The words come out a little peevish despite her best efforts. Astral shoots the young Jedi a hard look. “Try not to blow it up when your father is on it. Your Rebel friends might not believe it, but your father is the best ally you and your cause have.”

Luke doesn’t respond to that point. Instead, he looks troubled. Like he fears he has made a mistake. The determined blank expression he wore during the prior meeting is gone. Luke is back to looking like the confused young man she saw on Tatooine and Naboo. Now and then, he shoots her looks like he fears he’s being tempted by the devil and Astral is his emissary.

“Vader really did oppose the Death Star all along, didn’t he?” Luke grumbles. “What you said in there about the Emperor almost killing him—“

“It’s true.” And it’s not the first time Luke’s heard it. But apparently, it’s finally made an impression.

“There is good in him.” Luke says this like a flash of insight. Like a revelation. Like he’s half incredulous of his own words. He even repeats them. “There is still good in him . . . “

Astral fights the urge to become angry at this attitude. Because now Luke gets it? Now?? She could have used a fellow advocate a few minutes ago with the General and the Princess. If their friend Luke Skywalker would have spoken up in favor of the plan, maybe the outcome would have been different. But instead, he had mostly remained silent.

Astral stops walking, Luke stops walking, and now they face one another in the hallway. “There’s always been good in him,” Astral says in hushed tones. That’s the real tragedy of Darth Vader. He has the potential to do so much good despite who he is . . . or maybe because of who he is . . . but only if Luke and his Rebel friends will give him the chance. But unfortunately, it appears that will not be the case.

“If he’s still good, then why does he do what he does?” Luke complains. The kid looks so confounded. So genuinely perplexed.

“A lot of it is the Emperor. He must obey his Master.” Sheev Palpatine’s punishment is horrific. She’s seen it firsthand. “Luke, that’s what it means to be the Apprentice.”

“He could still repent,” Luke says this hopefully. Wishfully.

“And do what?”

“Come back to the good side,” he answers automatically. It’s so naive. So childlike. So simplistic. So wholly inadequate for the situation.

Astral sighs. “He’ll never be Jedi again.” She shakes her head and warns Luke a second time slowly under her breath, “He will never be Jedi again.” Luke needs to get off that point.

The boy says nothing. He just looks at her stubbornly. It’s clear he hasn’t given up.

“There’s no place for him here at the Rebellion, is there? I guess we knew this was a long shot.” Astral makes a face and looks away. “He always says he’s a fallen Jedi and a lousy Sith. That there is no place for him . . .”

“He could come back to the good side. It’s not too late,” Luke whispers furtively as Rebel personnel walk past giving them curious looks.

“It was too late before you were born,” Astral shakes her head.

Luke digs in. “It’s not.”

But it is, judging by the conversation they just had with the Princess and the General. Astral challenges Luke, “What would he do then? Spend his days wringing his hands and apologizing? That’s not your father. And he won’t sit on the sidelines. He’s the type who gets involved and takes action.” Astral is very certain of her assessment. “He can’t go back. He has to go forward. Whatever he calls himself, he won’t be a Jedi.”

“The Force will forgive him.”

“Does that mean you will forgive him?”

Luke doesn’t answer.

“And would your Rebel friends be willing to forgive him?” Astral answers that last question herself. “Not if today is any indication.”

She rallies to her husband’s defense. Darth Vader is a flawed man who has made many mistakes. But he’s not the monster Luke believes him to be. “Look, I’m not sure if you can understand this, but your father has only ever done the best he can in the circumstances he is in. He long ago lost the luxury of idealism. He makes compromises and moves forward. He’s a problem solver and a decision maker in a very imperfect world with a horrible boss. But still, he persists. Because he’s a man who does things.”

“What he’s done is the problem,” Luke gripes. “You make these compromises along the way and maybe they make sense at the time. But little by little, they add up. It gets easier . . . probably more frequent. And suddenly, it’s not a compromise anymore. It’s the norm.” Luke’s young face is full of conviction as he contends, “Eventually, you can justify anything because you are in the right. The ends always justify the means. And now, you’re the bad guy only you don’t know it. You can’t see it.” The young Jedi lifts his chin and maintains, “That’s why it’s important to stay in the Light. The Dark Side is a slippery slope.”

Astral isn’t here to argue metaphysics, but she can point out the fallacy of these bright line moral tests. “Did you know that your father says his body count as a Jedi far outpaces his body count as a Sith? And that’s not counting battle droids.” Luke’s eyes widen at this news and Astral presses her point. “The Jedi sent him to war as a teen, put a sword in his hand, made him a soldier, and told him to kill. That’s just what he did. He’s been doing it ever since. You have no idea how tired Darth Vader is of war. But if you think he will let you and your friends tear the galaxy apart like the Separatists did, you’re wrong. The Empire might have problems, but it’s better than civil war.”

“Ben Kenobi fought at his side and he didn’t lose his way. He didn’t fall to the Dark Side.”

Whatever. Astral never met Obi-Wan Kenobi and she’s glad. “Look, he’s no war criminal, if that’s what you’re hinting at.” Astral tone is tart like the Princess’ now. “Don’t lecture me about his unclean hands because most of the galaxy thinks you’re a terrorist, Luke. There is no more moral high ground here at the Alliance than there is at the Empire.”

He’s offended. “I disagree.”

She knew he would. “Until you can see things from the Empire’s point of view, you will never understand your father’s choices. You will never understand him.” Empathy is what’s missing from this situation, Astral decides. There’s far too much judgement.

Luke reverts to his hope that his father will flip sides to reclaim his former Jedi self. “I understand that there is good in him . . . that there is Light in him. Where there is Light, there is hope. He could still be redeemed,” Luke urges. Like it’s the Jedi version of happily-ever-after. And this either/or, good/bad, Jedi/Sith mindset is exactly what Lord Vader wants to get away from, Astral knows.

She shakes her head now and mutters, “I don’t even know what that means. Redeemed to what?”

“To the good side.” Luke takes a deep breath and declares his manifesto: “If there is good in him, I can redeem him.”

Astral frowns. “No one can redeem someone. They have to redeem themselves.” You don't convince someone to change, they have to decide to change. Any woman who’s ever tried to change a man knows that.

But Astral plays along. “Okay, so what if he flipped sides? Then what?” she prods. “He’s not going to humble himself to gain the approval of others. There’s only so much he will do to make amends. He’s not about to sit in a prison cell or disappear into exile like your Yoda did.”

“People will want justice.”

“What does justice mean in this context?”

Luke shakes his head. “I don’t know . . . I really don’t know . . .”

“Why are we even discussing this?” Astral throws up her hands. “He will never be Jedi again. He will never work to recreate the past. He will only strive for a better future. The only path for him is to move forward.”

“He has hurt a lot of people,” Luke reminds her.

It’s true. But, “So have you,” she retorts. “And you will hurt a lot more if you succeed in making this uprising of yours an all-out civil war. Luke, even if you win, you’re going to have to govern a lot of people who disagree with you. You may hate the Empire, but not everyone else does. And in your glorious democracy, those people are going to vote. You could find the Empire voted back into power again. Never forget that Sheev Palpatine was elected. Many people who don’t know any better still love him.”

Luke is nonplussed. “The Alliance will win in the end. Freedom will always win out over tyranny.” Luke proclaims this softly, sounding utterly committed and painfully young.

“Not unless you kill the Emperor,” Astral points out the obvious impediment. “And for that, you need your father’s help. Is this about Yoda? Because there might be a way to compromise on Yoda—“

“No, this isn’t just about Yoda.” Luke looks away at the mention of his Jedi Master’s name. Watching him now, Astral wonders whether Luke has confronted his teacher about the truth of his family history yet. From his body language, she tends to think Luke has continued to avoid the issue.

Luke grumbles, “This isn’t about Yoda. It’s mostly about him. I’ve thought a lot about this, and it’s mostly about him. About who he is and what he’s done.”

She nods encouragingly. “Then meet with him. Talk to him. No swords, no fighting, just talking.”

“We tried that.”

“Yes, and you walked out! Luke, you can’t just walk away from your father. You cannot deny the truth that is your family.”

He nods soberly. Again, Astral sees that fleeting haunted look pass his face. Then, Luke looks resolute. “I’m not walking away. I know I have to confront him again.”

Astral doesn’t like the sound of that. It sounds like another fight. “I worry that you will get yourself killed on this path.”

“I’d rather be dead than Dark,” he answers solemnly.

Yet again, he is missing the point. Poor Luke Skywalker didn’t have a Jedi Master long, but it was long enough to make a lasting impression. Astral sees that this young kid is hellbent on furthering the cause of the religious sect that has been extinct since he was born. Why does he cling to these outdated ideals? “You don’t have to be Dark! Your father and your grandfather don’t want that for you—”

“They are Sith. I see through them. This is about power. Regardless of what they say, this is about power.” Luke looks her in the eye. “The only way I am joining Vader’s conspiracy to kill the Emperor is if he’s Light again.”

“He will never be Jedi again.” She pleads now, “Luke, let’s put aside these ideologies and politics. Let’s be a family.”

“I had a family. He killed them, remember?”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Astral mumbles as she cringes for walking straight into that verbal punch. Feeling miserable, she moans, “I wish we had found you sooner . . . back on Tatooine before the Jedi and the Death Star—“

“Before the truth, you mean?” Luke looks resentful and indignant.

It prompts her to complain, “What happened to that young man? What happened to the easygoing, hardworking kid who liked everyone and everyone liked him? To the young man who had no radical political or religious leanings?”

Luke looks away. He thinks a moment before he answers. “I guess war changed me. Death changed me.”

Astral can relate. Loss has changed her too. Nothing has ever been the same after Alderaan. She nods at Luke’s insight and quietly volunteers, “It changed him too. You should let him tell you about it.”

Luke starts walking again and Astral does too. He’s moving fast now and she hurries to keep pace. Does he want rid of her? Or is he frustrated and rattled like she is? Because this feels like a footrace to the cruiser’s hangar bay.

Astral glances to her side and mutters under her breath, “At least promise me that you won’t try to take on the Emperor yourself.”

“I will do what I feel is right,” Luke informs her curtly. And there he goes again with talk of right and wrong.

Astral feels compelled to warn him about his sanctimony. This crusade of his to recapture the glory days of the High Republic is based on gauzy, romantic revisionist history, she fears. Moreover, it will end the same way for Luke that it did for others. “You’ll end up one more dead Jedi on a long list of martyrs,” she predicts. “No one wants that.”

Luke shrugs and looks especially determined. “No one’s ever really gone.”

“Stop with that Jedi crap—” Astral is irritated by his attitude. “You’d be throwing your life away! Luke, your father won’t be able to save you from the Emperor. He couldn’t even save himself.”

Luke shoots her a cool look. “Maybe I’ll end up saving him.”

Not a chance, Astral thinks. “There are alternatives to fighting,” she grinds out as she hurries to keep pace. “Make peace with your father and together make peace for the galaxy—”

“I’ll never join him.” They are nearly to her idling ship now. Luke pulls up short and tells her in no uncertain terms, “I’ll never join him. Tell him that. If the price for peace is my soul, there’s no deal.”

Astral ignores him. “I’m coming back. This isn’t over.”

“Don’t do that,” Luke responds. This time, he sounds uncharacteristically harsh. Very much like his curt father. “I cannot assure your safety next time and I won’t change my mind. Here,” he hands her back Snoke’s comlink.

“Are you sure?” Astral gasps, feeling stung. She didn’t see this level of rejection coming.

“Yes. You need to leave,” Luke tells her as he clenches and unclenches his prosthetic hand. It’s a nervous gesture, she recognizes. Luke leans in close now. “Please get out of here before someone shoots you. You have no idea how hated he is. After Hoth, I wouldn’t put it past a lot of Alliance members to take matters into their own hands. Not everyone here is a Jedi.”


	36. chapter 36

The Rebels move against Astral straightaway. Vader is livid.

This is what he has long feared—that Astral will become the punishment for his crimes. But he allowed her pleas and Snoke’s logic to impede his better judgement and he let her meet with the Rebel leaders to pitch treason. He trusted Luke and the kid let him down. 

It happens a few days after Astral returns to Coruscant. She arrives home from work one night to stumble onto intruders lying in wait. One grabs Astral from behind as the other attempts to pull a hood over her head. But she fights back with unexpected vehemence. Kicking, biting, and shoving until one guy lands a very hard punch. She’s reeling, but her efforts provide enough delay for Astral’s surveillance tail to discover the plot. Her security guy puts a lethal flashburn into the head of one assailant and then into the chest of his accomplice. It is only a temporary reprieve, however. There must have been a speeder waiting close by to swoop onto the terrace to collect the kidnappers. Because after the initial danger is believed passed, a third man barges in to investigate. He kills Astral’s surveillance guy. But she grabs the downed man’s gun fast and starts shooting. That chases the third assailant away.

Astral immediately flees to Vanee who dries her tears and wisely deposits her on a shuttle to the _Executor_. She’s more shaken up than truly injured. But once the adrenaline fades and the swelling sets in over the long flight, Astral arrives to his flagship limping and sore. She descends the shuttle ramp clutching a bacta infused icepack to her bruised cheek with bloodstains on her dress from her split lip. Concerned, waiting Vader strides up the ramp to intercept her. She looks so woebegone and distressed that he sweeps her feet out from under her and carries his bloodied wife to the nearby infirmary himself.

Vader doesn’t care who sees. If the Rebels know who she is and Sheev knows who she is, who cares if the rank and file know as well? The risk of discovery already exists. In fact, it has manifested itself and that’s why she’s here.

There’s no doubt that the Rebels are behind the attack. The two dead men are identified as known enemy operatives. But does that mean Luke was behind the mission? Could the Rebels have acted without his knowledge? Could this have been unsanctioned vigilantism? Vader decides it doesn’t matter. He’s holding his son responsible. Now, if he ever sees that would-be Jedi again, Luke’s losing another hand for this cowardly reprisal. The boy is too afraid to rage at him directly, so he makes Astral his victim?? Vader’s contempt is unmitigated.

Luckily, Astral’s physical damage is minor. Bruises, a hyperextended knee, one cracked tooth, and minor superficial facial lacerations that will heal without scarring. She will be well in due time. It’s her spirit that is crushed. Astral feels very betrayed that Luke’s Rebels have treated her this way after her overture for peace. It aggravates her already considerable frustration and disappointment.

Privately, Vader also worries that the Rebels will retaliate by releasing pictures of Astral visiting their cruiser. It would be very easy for the enemy to reveal to the galaxy the traitor wife of Darth Vader. And if that happens, they are both dead. No Jedi knight would do such a thing, but Vader knows for certain that a Dark Sith would. Will Luke to use his own methods against him? Where is Luke Skywalker on the spectrum of the Force currently? He’s trending Dark, if this attack is any indication. But Vader doesn’t worry Astral by confiding that particular fear. She’s beleaguered enough. 

It’s too dangerous for Astral to return to her life on Coruscant. Vader gives her the choice of remaining on the _Executor_ or living at his castle. She instantly opts to remain with him. Vanee soon arrives with the personal contents of her apartment. Astral deposits her belongings in the largely empty crew quarters assigned to him and promptly moves into his medical pod. 

It’s the most time they have spent together since his recuperation, and it’s wonderful. Astral is the first thing he sees in the morning and the last thing he sees at night. For the first time in their short marriage, they live as husband and wife.

Suddenly, his private space becomes a lot more tidy. The bed is made each day and there’s nothing lying on the floor. Most nights, he returns to find music playing. Yesterday, Astral had cookies waiting that she coaxed from the commissary. You’re becoming quite the housewife, Vader teases just to make her frown. There’s not much else to do while you’re gone, Astral grumbles. Then she complains that she thinks she’s read and watched the entire holonet by now.

She’s bored. Vader catches her watching Rebel propaganda videos a lot, usually the ones featuring Alderaan refugees. He knows Astral still participates remotely in a grief support group. She has an enormous well of survivor guilt. It fueled her commitment to thwart Sheev and to destroy the Death Star, giving her the courage to approach Luke and the Rebels. That their plans have not come to fruition frustrates Astral as much as it does himself. The lost opportunity—for their family and for the galaxy—is a shared disappointment for them both.

For a much-needed distraction, Vader sets Astral to work learning rudimentary self-defense skills. There can be no denying that Astral is a Rebel target at this point. Those terrorists might make another attempt to seize her, he worries. But next time, she will be better prepared. He assigns Astral a team of trainers to teach her defensive combat moves and how to use a blaster. She’s a diligent, if lackluster, student. She’d much rather be selling art than reloading a pistol. But she gamely tries.

I am terrible at this, Astral grumbles when Vader stops by one afternoon to assess her meager progress. The goal isn’t to be good, the goal is to live, he reminds her. Do it for me, he requests. She immediately acquiesces. Like always, Astral is a team player.

Vader might delegate her personal defense training, but he teaches her flying himself. It’s fun. He takes Astral out in a TIE and in a shuttle, patiently guiding her along. She’s better in the smaller ship, especially when it comes to landings in his flagship’s perpetually busy, always overcrowded hangar bay. One not-so-perfect landing provokes a humorous episode. Rookie Astral doesn’t allow enough clearance distance from the neighboring shuttle that has just docked. The two crafts nearly clip wings. The irate pilot from the other vehicle comes to confront Astral about it. 

He storms up the still lowering shuttle ramp and marches into the cockpit, hollering loudly as he approaches, “Who the FUCK taught you to fly? Do that again, and I’ll have you demoted, asshole! You’ll be flying a prisoner transport at a work camp after I file my---oh.”

The charging man stops short when he spies Astral sitting at the controls in a yellow dress. She’s no ordinary Imperial pilot and it shows. Plus by now, the entire crew knows she’s his wife who the Rebels tried to kidnap.

“Oh,” the man repeats. “It’s you . . . er . . . Ma’am.” He’s aghast.

“Sorry about that,” Astral replies sheepishly. She’s guilty and wringing her hands. “I’m terrible at flying, I know . . . I’m still learning . . . ”

Just about then, the angry man becomes aware of his telltale respirator hiss. “Ooohh . . .” his eyes widen. He seems paralyzed by dread. “He’s here . . .”

“He’s teaching me to fly.” Embarrassed and sputtering Astral directs the offended pilot to him standing in the cockpit doorway with arms crossed. “But don’t blame him. He’s a good teacher. I’m just not a very advanced student.”

“Yet. She’s getting better,” Vader assures the man who looks ready to faint from fear.

“That was better?” the angry pilot echoes weakly. Then, he immediately reverts to sucking up. “I mean, yes, my Lord. Absolutely, my Lord. Better, for sure.”

“Maybe you should do the landing next time,” the increasingly red-faced Astral mumbles.

“No,” Vader insists. “You need to learn.”

“I did almost hit his ship.”

“That does not concern me. I’ve wrecked plenty of ships myself.”

“You have??” Astral and the angry pilot react in shocked unison. 

“Yes. That’s how we met. Dismissed, Lieutenant,” Vader orders curtly. But Astral ruins it by giggling. 

Meanwhile, the Death Star construction continues. Moff Jerjerrod is a competent administrator and he sets himself to the task while Vader throws resources at the project. It yields consistent progress that Vader dutifully praises while inwardly he groans. The weapon is far from being structurally complete, but progress on the superlaser is proceeding rapidly. That means Sheev’s new technological terror could be operational on schedule.

Where are the Rebels to blow it up? Vader knows for a fact that the Bothans received the information he leaked. In case the plot fails, he made it look good by killing a lot of those little spymaster couriers. Vader learned long ago to maintain plausible deniability for all his subversive acts. But what’s the hold up? His enemies have the information they need and the cash to finance the attack. It’s time to blow this thing up. Where are the Rebels? He has basically invited them to repeat their greatest terrorist attack.

In the midst of it all, Yoda dies. There can be no other explanation for the enormous disturbance in the Force that sends Vader mentally reeling for several minutes. He himself has no love lost for the diminutive little creature who was a giant of the Force and a stalwart defender of the Jedi Order. But with Yoda now gone and Obi-Wan dead, the universe skews hard to Darkness. 

The entire mantle of the Light now rests upon his son’s young shoulders. Maybe on his sister’s as well. And maybe some on his own tired, slumped frame as the galaxy’s last, best hope, the Chosen One. He is supposed to stand for the not-Jedi, not-Sith middle ground. But these days, with Sheev trending Darker than ever, Vader feels called to the Light. 

Could he be Jedi again? Could he meet Luke’s purity test for a conspiracy? Nah, he decides, there’s no point in turning back the clock. He knows better than anyone that the dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate for the stormy present. Vader doesn’t believe in the halcyon glory days of the Jedi and the Old Republic because he was there to witness firsthand their many shortcomings.

But what now? With his assassination plot a failure and the attack on Astral, Vader knows he needs to reassess the future. He decides that is time to preserve what he has. To protect his wife, safeguard his position, and keep in his Master’s good graces. And if that means fighting off the young, foolish son who reminds him far too much of himself, then so be it. But hopefully, it won’t come to that. Perhaps it’s a futile wish, but if there is a chance that he and Luke can reach some arm’s length status quo on opposite sides of the Force and the war, Vader will take it. He’s not killing his own son nor will he lure him to the Dark Side to become his own executioner.

Privately, Vader envies Luke’s stage in life. His son is still in the striving years. When the future feels full of possibilities and ambition rules the day. When part of the excitement of life is waiting to see how it will eventually unfold. It’s a time before self-imposed limitations intrude. For daring has little risk when there isn’t much to lose. The position, the possessions, the dependents and all their inherent responsibilities haven’t come yet.

But most importantly, his foolhardy terrorist kid doesn’t know his limits yet. He’s dreaming big and, well, why not? Luke’s living at a time in life before failures dim your sense of what is achievable. He hasn’t had enough life experience to temper his dreams. How Vader misses those days. How he misses the young man he once was. His future was limitless up until the day he choked Padme and ended up hacked into pieces and left to die.

Will Luke face his own comeuppance? Vader hopes not. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But still . . . he is livid over the Rebels’ treatment of Astral.

Now, while his son is off crusading to remake the past as the most important agent of change on the scene since---well, since himself—Vader is stuck defending the status quo. His long-ago reformist zeal has been ground down by the reality of the slow pace of institutional change and by his Master’s dictatorial whims. Like it or not, he’s the Establishment now. His name is a byword for Imperial authority and his mask is a symbol that provokes more fear than trust. Of course, Darth Vader can’t be the transcendent figure to bring peace. Naturally, the Rebels refuse to trust him. What had he been thinking?? He’s the most hated man in the galaxy. He’s what people want to change. And so, of course, he can’t be the one to make the change.

If their roles were reversed, would he be making the same choices Luke is now? Vader wonders . . . In a different time, might he have accepted an overture from Dooku or Grievous? He’s honestly not sure. And maybe it doesn’t matter. Perhaps he should give up trying to understand his estranged son.

The relationship is broken and it won’t be repaired. Even before his mistake at Bespin, he and Luke were positioned to be at odds. Obi-Wan got his revenge, Vader sees. He trained Luke to be his father’s assassin. To be a revolutionary to undercut all the good the Empire has achieved. To be a zealot to remake the Jedi Order his father systematically destroyed. No wonder Obi-Wan warned he would become more powerful in death. He must have known that by killing him Vader would serve Obi-Wan’s purpose: that his martyrdom would convince Luke of everything bad he had ever been told about Darth Vader.

It makes Vader very angry. He feels extremely aggrieved. Let down first by the Jedi, then by duplicitous Sheev, and now by his own son. Can no one other than Astral see the truth of him? Does no one understand his perspective? He is not a monster. He is not the villain. In his own way, all along, he has been trying to do what is right given a set of choices that keep continually limiting. He is the Apprentice—he doesn’t get to make the rules. Does Luke understand that?

One thing is for certain—he damned sure isn’t flipping Jedi to appease his sanctimonious kid. Is it Luke’s youthful arrogance that makes him determined to cling to bright line rules of good and evil for the Force? Or is it just the comfort that absolutes bring? The Sith don’t deal in absolutes—it is the Jedi who insist on viewing the world in black or white choices, Vader knows. Can’t Luke see that’s far too simplistic? All morality is ultimately a facts and circumstances test. Leaders have to weigh their options, choose their priorities, and make decisions accordingly.

He is the Chosen One, neither Dark nor Light but variable from one extreme to the other. Vader knows he is not so much grey as he is vacillating. Maybe he just stands for nothing, Vader worries. For nothing is where this is all headed if Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa get their way. Because if the Republic is reborn and the Jedi Order reformed, then everything that Vader has fought and suffered for will be undone—and by his own son and daughter, no less. In that case, the galaxy will have to learn the same lessons all over again, he glumly supposes. History will need to repeat itself. Thirty years from now, some other poor slob will be stuck killing Jedi in a temple trying to finish what that colossal failure Darth Vader started.

It’s an especially depressing thought. He hates when he gets in these moods. But, truthfully, he’s more discouraged than ever after the failed conspiracy with his son raised his hopes and then dashed them. Vader is hurt by the rejection, disappointed by the lost opportunity, and furious over the attack on Astral. It all combines to make him more obsessed than ever about Luke Skywalker.

Tonight, he and Astral are back to talking about what they both can’t stop talking about—his son. The lights are out and they are lying side by side in bed speaking out loud into the snug darkness of his small _Executor_ medical pod. This time, it’s his turn to start the mutual lament. 

“I keep thinking he’s like me, but he’s not. He has my Force and he has my Darkness, but he’s Padme in all the ways that matter,” Vader sighs. “She was reluctant to compromise on principles as well. Always worried that it was a slippery slope . . . and she was right. But that’s not the situation now.”

Astral adds, “He’s very afraid to make a mistake.”

“That was never my problem,” Vader admits ruefully. “I was reckless. Obi-Wan hated it. I guess I was arrogant as well.”

“You say that, but I can’t imagine you reckless and arrogant. That’s just . . . well, it’s not you.”

“It was me back then. I didn’t know any better yet,” he admits. Life has humbled him. Astral has only known the older, wiser Darth Vader. Not the young, brash Anakin Skywalker. 

“Obi-Wan once thought as Luke does. He was adamant that I stay wholly in the Light. He and the other Masters hid the Jedi knowledge of the Dark Side from me. All along, I knew there were things about the Force they weren’t telling me. . . they were holding me back.” 

Damn, those memories are so long ago. Vader thought his Jedi past was forgotten. It mostly was until Kenobi showed up on the Death Star with his long-lost son to rescue the princess he was torturing, ignorant that she was really his daughter. What Vader wouldn’t give for a do-over on the Death Star. This time, he wouldn’t let himself get distracted with revenge on his old Master. He would focus on nabbing his children and talking some sense into them. His son and daughter don’t know it, but they are just the latest pawns in a conflict that predates their birth. Together, they have the power to change that, if only they will accept him.

Vader stares at the ceiling as he speaks of the past. “I see now that Obi-Wan probably thought he was protecting me back then. But all I could see at the time was that he didn’t want me to surpass him. And that may have been part of it.” 

“Snoke says the Jedi feared you.”

“Yoda did. The Jedi were always looking for threats and the Chosen One was their biggest threat ever. In many ways, a homegrown iconoclast was more dangerous than any Sith could be. Yoda knew it, too. Ever since the days of the Jedi Crusaders, the Council had been careful to weed out freethinkers. Obi-Wan’s own Master—the Jedi who found me—was a bit of a dissident himself. Yoda made sure that he was a peripheral figure with an unremarkable career. Qui-Gon Jinn was kept on a tight leash by the Council for his radical ideas.”

“What were those?” Astral asks. 

“He was interested in the Living Force—in the here and now. He was less about limitations and boundaries than he was about exploring the Force. Letting the Force guide you places. Even places the Jedi didn’t want you to go.” All these years later, Vader still wishes he had learned more from his initial Jedi Master he barely knew. The man was quietly admired for his patient, intuition instruction. He taught the Force as a set of truths to be discovered, rather than a set of rules to memorize. And if Obi-Wan is to be believed, Qui-Gon bent a lot of those rules rather blithely. 

“Jinn didn’t give a damn what the Council thought, although he didn’t go looking for confrontations. The Council kept him sidelined and in return he ignored them.” Vader smirks. “They must have been very chagrined when he became the first Jedi in a thousand years to get himself killed gloriously by a Sith Lord.” Vader thinks back to the tall, broad shouldered Jedi Master with long hair and kind eyes who he met as a youth. “Qui-Gon was a good man,” he remembers aloud. 

“Luke’s a good man,” Astral observes.

Vader grunts his dissent. “He’s just a kid.”

“He’s young, but he’s not a kid. Not anymore.”

“He hates me.” And now, the conversation shifts, as it always does, to Leia Organa. “She hates me too.”

Astral doesn’t deny it. She just comments, “She’s not helping things with Luke, I’m sure. At least their smuggler friend is safe now.” 

That’s something, at least. “All’s well that ends well, I guess,” Vader mutters.

For before Plagueis succeeded in buying back frozen Han Solo, Luke, Leia, and some Rebel friends rescued him, killing Jabba and many of his unsavory hangers on at the Hutt’s Tatooine hideout. They left behind quite a body count, not that Vader cares for the lives lost. He’s sort of proud that his two kids laid waste to the local outpost of the criminal enterprise that enslaved him and Shmi Skywalker a generation ago. It’s a win-win, all in all. Vader gets some revenge and his kids get their buddy back. Although he’s not very keen on having a small-time spice smuggler for his daughter’s boyfriend. Sure, Solo is a great pilot, but that doesn’t make him eligible to date his daughter. 

Not that she will ever care what he thinks. Vader had thought things were bad with Luke, but they might be even worse with Leia. Now, when he sees the princess’ holonet rants, all he sees is Padme. How had he never perceived the resemblance? It’s more than just physical. It’s everything about the feisty, confident Rebel leader. Leia is her mother through and through, even if she doesn’t know it. Padme would be so proud of her. Vader knows his late wife is probably cheering on the Rebellion from the netherworld of the Force. If she were alive today, Padme would likely be leading the Alliance to Restore the Republic alongside that Chandrilan Senator Mothma. 

“Do you think Luke knows about Leia?” he wonders.

“I don't know. If he does, he didn’t let on. Neither did she. Maybe in time, they both will come around,” Astral makes a halfhearted attempt to remain optimistic.

His eyes wander over towards the direction of his desk. He can’t see it in the darkness, but it’s where he keeps his old Jedi saber that Plagueis cast to the ground at his feet along with his son’s rotting hand. The sword is a talisman of regret for him now. “Luke and Leia won’t come around,” he predicts. “They have no reason to do so.” Not after Bespin and Alderaan.

Astral disagrees. “You don’t need a reason for forgiveness. That’s the point. You can’t compel it. You can’t demand it. You can’t bargain for it. Someone has to give it. Like you forgave Padme.”

Vader sighs. “I wronged her.” He nearly killed her and the children on that landing pad.

“She wronged you as well,” Astral loyally points out. And it’s true. Padme brought Obi-Wan to Mustafar to kill him. “Sometimes the people closest to us are the ones who hurt us the most.” He knows Astral is thinking of her cheating ex-husband when she says this. Astral’s past is not Skywalker level dysfunction, but it has been traumatizing nonetheless. 

“I wish I hadn’t allowed you to be drawn into the mess of my family,” Vader apologizes yet again. 

Astral says what she always says in response: “It’s our family now.”

“Astral, wherever this leads—“

“Don’t start that talk.”

“We should talk about this—”

“I don’t want to. My Lord, don’t give up hope. Luke might reconsider.”

But she herself told him that Luke’s answer was final. His son will not join him and Plagueis unless he turns to the Light.

Could he be Jedi again? He’s rejected the idea out of hand, but now Vader ponders the question seriously. Because is he the one being stubborn? Vader honestly could care less what he calls himself. When it comes to the Force, the stylings matter less than the substance. And that’s where he has the issue. He simply refuses to adhere solely to the Light. He won’t restrict himself to only half of the Force. As it stands, he has so little Force left that he needs all he can get. But this is not a matter of pride so much as it is a matter of principle. No one will ever balance the Force wholly in the Light. Or wholly in Darkness, for that matter.

Moreover, he certainly won’t adhere to the rest of the Jedi traditions. There’s no way he will return to being a celibate, unfeeling monk who eschews all personal ambitions for the greater good. Vader is willing to give on whatever political reforms his kids want—Luke and Leia can turn back the clock on secular matters if they insist. But when it comes to the religion of the Force, things are moving forward, not backward.

But is this the wrong decision? Vader makes decisions for a living, but he long ago learned that he’s much better at making decisions for the Empire than he is at a making decisions for himself. His famous ruthless efficiency is only for the office. When it comes to personal matters, Vader knows he’s rather hapless. He blames it on his Jedi upbringing. All those years of denying his own emotional needs has him sort of clueless on how to manage them. Strong emotions tend to overwhelm and confuse him. Well, except for anger. He knows how to handle anger. You just channel it into power.

Uncertain and fearful of making another major mistake, Vader obsessively meditates on the issue. He talks Astral’s ear off on the point as well. He even goes as far as to consult Plagueis on the matter. Vader is half expecting the old Sith Master to instruct him to tell Luke what he wants to hear and just renege after the fact. Deceit would be standard Dark Side advice, after all. But the old Muun surprises Vader by demanding he be forthright. Young Luke is either with us or against us, Darth Plagueis decides. His sentiment sounds more Sith than ever in the moment, but actually it’s not. Plagueis wants transparency on the goal of balancing the Force.

While Vader continues playing Death Star construction foreman, the Muun has been hard at work noodling over plots to kill Sheev without Luke’s help. Plagueis still wants to use himself as the lure and the completed Death Star as the means. None of the proposed scenarios are particularly impressive and Vader says so. That’s less constructive criticism than it is Vader’s unwillingness to move forward without Luke. He and his boy either do this together or not at all, Vader has decided. But that seems very unlikely at this point.

Back at the Death Star, Moff Jerjerrod keeps assuring him that his men are working as fast as they can. That’s not exactly true. Vader still finds new ways to motivate them. He has to. The optimistic Moff overpromised bigtime to Sheev. The completion schedule he proposed was ridiculously unrealistic. Sheev knew it, too. Ordinarily, Vader would just let the Moff fail and suffer his Master’s wrath. But this project is Vader’s responsibility too so he has to manage it. He refuses to let Jerjerrod take him down with him. So the Moff doubles his efforts. If Vader didn’t know better, he would think the man more scared of him than of Sheev. But somehow, some way, the guy does the impossible and the Death Star is back on schedule. The superlaser is very near operational, even if the hull of the weapon lags behind. It will be only a few short weeks before Sheev’s new toy will be ready to test on some poor unsuspecting planet.

Vader comes home one night to deliver the bad news to Astral that the new weapon works, and damned if she doesn’t cry. He pulls her into a hug and she clings tightly. They both knew this day would come, but now that it’s actually arrived, it feels as bad as they both feared. 

Vader feels like such a failure. Unable to do anything meaningful to stem the tide of Darkness that will soon send the universe reeling. He’s the Chosen One and yet he spends his days aiding and abetting his Master’s excesses that he can no longer stealthily oppose. Maybe his Rebel kids would expect him to martyr himself with a suicide mission to kill Sheev. But Vader knows that won’t be effective. He has long believed that staying alive to subvert his Master is better than making some symbolic gesture that will get himself killed and do nothing to improve things. Besides, he’s fought too hard for too long to stay alive to throw his life away now. 

Lacking any realistic plan to change the situation at hand, Vader prays to the Force. Standing at the bridge of the _Executor_ gazing soberly out at the imperfect giant sphere that is the half-completed Death Star superstructure, he requests its intercession. Praying silently that the Force will step in to guide events once again. After all, the ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force. And the last time Sheev got his hands on a Death Star, the Force assembled the Skywalkers—unknowing kin at the time—to scuttle it. Leia stole the plans, Luke took the shot, and he confronted Sheev in the aftermath. Their family can agree on nothing but this one fact: Darth Sidious and his super weapon must be stopped. Too bad they can’t agree on a plan to actually do something about it. This missed opportunity is galling.

It leaves Vader feeling especially responsible. Make me an instrument of your will, he implores his divine creator again and again. Plagueis might claim to be his father, but Vader knows his father is the Force. So, he beseeches his indifferent parent. This time, it is not to ease his personal suffering but to prevent the mass suffering of others. Why have you forsaken me? He rages at the Force in moments of frustration and futility. I have failed you, but do not fail others. Do not forsake the galaxy. It needs you now more than ever. Stop Sheev now, Vader growls his fervent prayer. Reveal your intent and show your might. Depose that fool Darth Sidious who believes he is the ultimate power in the universe.

But, as usual, the Force ignores him. It is a slap in the face when nothing happens and the days tick by. Soon Vader finds himself on one knee in the largest of the completed Death Star docking bays as Sheev plods out of a shuttle to be greeted with maximum pomp and circumstance. His Master doesn’t need to move this slow, Vader grumbles inwardly as he crouches in the uncomfortable pose. Today’s stately pace is solely for effect. 

“Rise, my friend.” Sheev beckons to Vader even as he completely ignores Jerjerrod. It’s a showy display of disdain in front of the large assembly of engineers and troops. Sheev Palpatine clearly wants everyone to know that he credits Darth Vader for his new weapon. 

Vader takes it as his cue to officially report, “The Death Star will be completed on schedule.” Those are not words he takes pride in uttering. This time, a job well done is a de facto defeat. Where the Hell is his son to blow this technological terror up? Luke has a fortune in credits and all the intel he needs to plan an attack. What’s taking so long? This day should never have come.

“You have done well, Lord Vader,” his Master commends. Sheev’s eyes slant his direction from beneath his low hood. “And now, I sense you wish to continue your search for young Skywalker.”

Yikes! Vader nearly chokes. His thoughts have betrayed him. He knows to be more circumspect around Sheev. Vader gulps and hopes his Master didn’t catch the details of his thoughts, but just caught that gist that his emotions were focused on his Rebel son. “Yes, my Master,” he hastens to reply.

“Patience, my friend. In time, he will seek you out. And when he does, you must bring him before me. He has grown strong. Only together can we turn him to the Dark Side of the Force.“

Not a chance. Plagueis is right that Sheev will pit him and Luke against one another and sit back to enjoy the show. Still, Vader dutifully assents, “As you wish.” He continues to play the loyal, obedient Apprentice.

But now, his Master says something truly unnerving. “Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen.” It’s typical Sheev—insufferably smug and overconfident.

And, well, fuck. That’s not good news. Vader wonders for the upteenth time whether the Emperor knows about his attempt at a conspiracy with the Rebels. Whether Sheev has never bothered to acknowledge the threat because he knew the plot would fail. The animosity between father and son is simply too great to bridge.

Vader’s sense of trepidation grows when he is summoned to the new Death Star throne room later that day. He lumbers down on one knee and begins with his usual formal groveling. “What is thy bidding, my Master?“

“Send the fleet to the far side of Endor,” Sheev orders. “There it will stay until called for.”

Er . . . why? A third of the Imperial fleet is here to ferry essential supplies to finish the Death Star. Moving the local fleet means suspending construction. It’s quite a reversal of position. Vader’s whole focus for these recent months has been to finish the weapon. Moreover, even with the shield projected from Endor and the operational status of the superlaser, the station is vulnerable. Until the superstructure is finished, a small fighter can easily penetrate to target the reactor core. So . . . why stop now? 

But Vader knows better than to argue with his Master. Instead, he raises a competing concern. “What of the reports of the Rebel fleet massing near Sullust?” Those ships that are not here moving supplies are spread thin across the galaxy on routine patrols or seeking out Rebels. So if Sheev’s going to delay completing the Death Star, he ought to move the fleet to Sullust not to the far side of Endor.

Sheev brushes him off. “It is of no concern. Soon the Rebellion will be crushed and young Skywalker will be one of us.” His Master now issues an order that makes Vader extremely suspicious: “Your work here is finished, my friend. Go out to the command ship and await my orders.”

Sheev is getting rid of him. Vader bows his head low and withdraws to brood on the implications. “Yes, my Master.” Suddenly, he has a bad feeling about this.

So bad, in fact, that he immediately sends Astral to the castle. She is reluctant to leave because he doesn’t really have a basis for the move. It’s just a gut hunch that has Vader especially pensive and worried. It makes him determined to get his wife as far away from the Death Star and his Master as possible. Astral complies with his wishes under protest. Vader suspects it’s mostly to humor him. 

Astral, better than anyone, knows that he is extremely stressed about how the Death Star situation will play out. Every morning, he wakes up hoping that today will be the day that the Rebels attack. It’s got him anxious and impatient. Sheev is only going to hang out here so long before he starts using his weapon. And then, it will be too late. Unless, of course, Vader takes matters into his own hands to attack the Death Star himself.

What’s the first target for the new weapon? Vader is completely in the dark. That could be because Sheev knows he opposed Alderaan. Or, it could be because Sheev hasn’t decided yet which system to destroy. But knowing his Master, Sheev has something special in mind for the debut of his new toy. Something to make an impression on the galaxy at large. But what? Vader has given up trying to guess.

As Astral leaves, Vader walks her to the hangar bay. Heedless of the many curious onlooking eyes, he holds her hand. It’s comforting. Already, he misses her. Having Astral as a constant presence has helped a lot these past few months. She alone understands how he feels about his Master, his family, and the Empire.

But it is time to part for a little while. At least until whatever’s going to happen happens. So he turns to face his wife at the bottom of the shuttle ramp. They join both their hands now. He and Astral have already said their goodbyes in private so he will keep this short. 

“I’ll let you know when it’s safe to return.” There’s no need to hide their relationship any longer. That means they can now contact each other freely. 

“I’ll be counting the days,” Astral promises solemnly.

“Not like I will be,” he assures her. He needs Astral far more than ‘I love you’ can adequately communicate. He got a taste of ordinary married life—well, as ordinary as life can be for Lord and Lady Vader on a star destroyer—and now he wants more. That’s always been his problem—he wants more time, more attention, more love than he ever seems to get. Some part of him never fully recovered from the separation from his beloved mother at the tender age of ten. He’s been quietly desperate to replace that love and emotional stability ever since. Vader knows he’s a man who needs attachments far more than others do.

“My Lord, whatever happens,“ Astral is being deliberately vague lest they be overheard, “don’t be the hero.” She’s telling him not to get himself killed trying to scuttle the Death Star on his own.

He smirks behind the mask. “I thought you liked me playing the hero.” All along, Astral has been the one cheerleading him on to treason. Although, admittedly, he didn’t take much persuasion. 

But now, it seems, she is getting cold feet. “I like you alive better,” Astral replies as she reaches up wife-like to smooth his cape. 

She’s got a point. There’s no agreement and no plan. A coup d’etat isn’t something you wing. But if he sees an opportunity . . . well, Vader just might take it. 

Astral had been composed when they spoke behind closed doors. But now, in the public space of the hangar bay with their parting imminent, her bright eyes sparkle with unshed tears. His unease has rubbed off on her clearly. Astral is worried and trembling now as she sputters out words at him. “I love you, my Lord. Take care of yourself.”

“I will. I always do.” Vader reaches to brush his gloved hand at her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “I’m a hard man to kill.“ That’s not a boast, that’s the truth.

Astral nods but then whispers, “I’m scared.”

He almost says the words aloud. _Me too, me too_. None of this has worked out like they hoped. Now, it looks like his choices are to be the complicit Apprentice or the righteous dead man. Where his son and daughter fit into the mix is anyone’s guess. But at least Astral will be safe at Mustafar away from his Master, the Rebels, and the Death Star.

Vader wishes he could rip his mask off now to kiss her one more time. But he can’t. Instead, he blesses her softly, “May the Force be with you.” The phrase is from the lexicon of his former life as a Republic Jedi. When said among individual members of the Order, it was a sign of special respect and endearment. It indicated something approaching a forbidden attachment, although of course that was never acknowledged.

For her part, Astral throws caution to the wind and flings herself into his arms. It’s a fleeting blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment of intimacy, heedless of the public setting. Then he deposits her on the shuttle and watches it leave with a mix of relief and regret. 

Next, he heads for the bridge to fulfill his Master’s wish that he cool his heels on his command ship. Vader will hang out bored on the _Executor_ for the foreseeable future while he meditates on what Sheev is up to. And all the while, the foreboding sight of his Master’s newest planetkiller will loom large over his busy bridge command post. Reminding Vader of all that is at stake.

A few days later, he’s drifting deep in the Force while standing on the bridge. His mind is only somewhat monitoring his surroundings when he startles with instant, unmistakable recognition. 

_Luke. _

Vader almost says the name out loud with shock as his eyes blink open behind his mask. 

_Luke! That’s Luke!_

It’s a presence he hasn’t felt since Naboo. And before that, Endor and Yavin. Vader peers out the triangular shaped windows of the bridge at the line of transports awaiting clearance for the Endor shield gate. There is considerably less space traffic now that the majority of the fleet is lurking behind the local moon. Construction has essentially halted. The official explanation is Sheev’s visit, but that fleet placement looks an awful lot like an ambush to Vader’s strategic mind. It’s a big clue that something is afoot. And now, Luke is here too . . . 

But on which ship? Vader’s gaze instinctively finds a nondescript cargo shuttle waiting for its turn to land on Endor. His son is on that shuttle, he’s absolutely certain. Vader would know that enormous Force imprint anywhere. And so, he immediately worries, will his Master. 

Fuck. This is not good. 

His heart racing and his adrenaline pumping, Vader heads for the nearest communications officer. “Where is that shuttle going?” he demands, trying to project his usual public demeanor of efficient command. But behind the mask, he is quaking.

Piett takes charge of the situation. Vader tunes out the Admiral’s chatter with the shuttle pilot as he stretches out his consciousness. And that’s when Vader senses the ripple of recognition. He knows Luke is here, but Luke knows he’s here too. His son is not happy about it either, judging by the wave of dread, surprise, and fear that Vader detects. One thing’s for certain—Luke might be here to blow up the Death Star, but he’s not here to reconcile.


	37. chapter 37

“It’s an older code, but it checks out. I was about to clear them,” Admiral Piett reports. 

  
Vader nods. Of course, it’s an older code. It must be one of the codes he leaked months ago to the Bothans to sell to the Rebellion. Meaning Luke is here on the stolen shuttle to blow up the Death Star, just like Vader has hoped. 

  
  
Part of him is relieved.

  
  
Part of him is proud.

  
  
Part of him is terrified. 

  
  
Terror wins out. When Piett asks if he should hold up clearance for the shuttle, Vader orders, “Leave them to me. I will deal with them myself.” 

Then he practically runs to his Master’s throne room to grab some political cover. Because who knows where this is heading? Sheev surely senses Luke’s presence. Vader needs to make a show of loyalty now. Because if the Rebels bungle their assault and the Death Star remains, Vader needs to avoid blame. 

The Force is jumpy and erratic now against his mind. It’s nervous and skittish feeling. Does it portend danger? Does it portend death? Only one thing is certain—it signals change. The universe, it seems, is on the verge of something important. That bad feeling Vader had earlier is back and more dreadful than ever. And so, before he walks in to see his Master, Vader says a quick, silent prayer. _May the Force be with the Skywalkers._ With him, with his brainwashed idiot son, and with his anonymous angry Rebel princess daughter. And also, with his beloved Astral who is safe for now at his castle.

Sheev is annoyed to see him. “I told you to remain on the command ship.”

“A small Rebel force has penetrated the shield and landed on Endor,” Vader dutifully reports.

“Yes, I know.” Sheev is unsurprised. This news is according to plan, apparently. Behind his mask, Vader’s eyes narrow with suspicion. 

But he continues. “My son is with them,” Vader fesses up to keep his Master’s trust. 

This time, Sheev is surprised. He leans forward on his throne. “Are you sure?”

His Master’s reaction is genuine, making Vader gulp. He just made a mistake. A huge mistake. Because Sheev didn’t sense Luke’s presence in the Force after all. But there’s no turning back now. “I have felt him, my Master,” Vader explains.

“Strange, that I have not.” Sheev sounds especially peevish now. His Master fixes him with a hard look. “I wonder if your feelings on this matter are clear, Lord Vader.”

Vader knows what is being asked. Sheev isn’t just wondering if he sensed Luke’s involvement in error. He’s asking whose side Vader is on. So, the Apprentice automatically reaffirms his loyalty, “They are clear, my Master.”

“Then you must go to the sanctuary moon and wait for them.“

“He will come to me?” Er . . . what??

“I have foreseen it. His compassion for you will be his undoing. He will come to you and then you will bring him before me,” Sheev commands.

This is exactly what Vader plans to avoid. But he bows low before he quickly withdraws to regroup. “As you wish.”

Vader now takes stock of what he has learned. The Rebels are heading for the shield generator and Sheev knows it. Because Sheev too must have leaked information to the Alliance to provoke an attack on the Death Star. But whereas Vader did it to destroy the weapon, Sheev is surely setting a trap. Vader understands now why the fleet is lying in wait behind Endor. Like he surmised, an ambush is afoot. 

But Sheev didn’t expect Luke to be with the strike team on the Endor moon. Was that because he was expecting Luke to be in the cockpit of an X-wing? Vader feels foolish for having revealed Luke’s involvement in the operation. It’s got him ordered to set up the three-way confrontation that Vader knows to avoid. Because the obvious loser in the Vader-Sidious-Skywalker showdown is himself. The stated ruse of turning Luke to the Dark Side is really his Master’s plan to trade up to a new, younger and more powerful Apprentice. Vader was there the last time Sheev pulled this stunt. And actually, it’s very galling to be relegated to the Dooku role. 

For so many reasons, Vader needs to avoid that outcome. So he hops on a shuttle and heads to Endor. As always, Vader will make a show of fulfilling his Master’s orders even as he subverts them. It is time, Vader decides, to find his son and send him away before circumstances get out of hand. 

On his way, Vader alerts the Endor command to the presence of the Rebels. Send out biker scouts looking for them, Vader orders. Make sure to take prisoners rather than shoot to kill. It’s both a ploy to locate Luke and a way to draw defensive resources away from the shield bunker. Vader plans to do all he can to make it easy for the Rebels to disable the Death Star deflector shield. For who knows? Maybe he will still be able to pull off his original plan of destroying the weapon with Sheev on it. 

As it turns out, Sheev’s foresight is accurate. Because after loitering in and around Endor for an entire day without any sign of his son, an officer arrives that night to announce that they have a prisoner. A man claiming to be the notorious Rebel Luke Skywalker has surrendered to the local garrison. The prisoner has boldly asked to be taken to Darth Vader himself.

Vader is barely off his shuttle when another officer with a squad of troopers intercepts him with the prisoner in his midst. “This is the Rebel that surrendered to us,” the nervous commander reports. “Although he denies it, I believe there may be more of them, and I request permission to conduct a further search of the area.” The man extends his hand, offering Luke's new lightsaber. “He was armed only with this.”

Vader looks at Luke. He’s dressed in all black, like he was on Naboo. It’s an outfit that is far more Sith than Jedi. His stern-faced kid currently radiates determination in the Force, even if he’s only mildly succeeding at appearing unafraid. One thing is for certain, his boy has courage.

Vader turns away and accepts the weapon. “Good work, Commander. Leave us. Conduct your search and bring his companions to me.” If the princess is with Luke, Vader wants to be sure that she escapes as well. He doesn’t want Sheev getting his hands of either of his children. 

“Yes, my Lord.” The commander and his troopers withdraw. It’s just him and Luke now. 

The tension palpable. 

Vader begins with a warning. “The Emperor has been expecting you.”

“I know, Father.”

Father? Father?? That’s an unexpected form of address. It’s disarming. Vader completely forgets to yell at Luke about what happened to Astral. Instead, he goads his kid. “So, you have accepted the truth?”

The answer he gets is full of quiet sanctimony. “I've accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father.”

That sets him off. Vader reflexively rankles the way he always does when confronted with his past. “That name no longer has any meaning for me.”

“It is the name of your true self. You've only forgotten,” Luke retorts. “I know there is good in you. The Emperor hasn't driven it from you fully. That is why you couldn't destroy me.”

“I never wanted to kill you—“

“You wanted to turn me Dark. It’s the same thing.”

“Wrong again. My goal is balance.” 

“Your goal is power,” Luke sniffs. He still thinks he has all the answers, apparently. 

Stressed, annoyed, and impatient, Vader has no desire to rehash another Jedi-Sith argument. The whole construct presents the lie of two choices, suggesting there aren’t a myriad of options lying between those two religions. Besides, the time for verbal posturing is over. This is no longer a theoretical exercise and a philosophical debate. The threat of Sheev is a clear and present danger. It’s time to speak plainly and make good decisions. That’s the only way both of them will get out of this alive.

Vader demands, “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in an X-wing to blow up the station?”

“That’s someone else’s job this time.”

“So you’re here to kill me?” Vader surmises. “Is that what this stunt of yours is about?”

“I didn’t come to kill you.”

“So you came to be killed?“

“I came to kill the Emperor.”

Oh. “Does that mean we have a deal?” Vader can’t keep the happy surprise from his voice. 

“No.” Luke shakes his head and kills his hopes. He sticks to his prior rejection. “I’ll never join you. Not as you are now. I’m here to kill the Emperor without your help.”

The youthful arrogance angers Vader. “You stupid fool! This is a trap!”

Luke just eyes him. “I knew all along you were lying to me.”

“I’m not the one lying to you!” Vader can feel his anger rise despite his best intentions. “I have never lied to you!” It was the Jedi who told Luke lies. Vader worries aloud now, “How did you know the Emperor is here?”

“It was in the information the Bothans intercepted.”

“No, it wasn’t. I didn’t know when he would be here when I leaked it.” 

Luke looks to him with alarm. “You’re saying—“

“The information you’re basing your attack on didn’t come from me.” It must have come from his Master. “This is a trap!” Vader reveals again. 

Luke swallows hard and feigns unconcern. “Whether it’s his trap or your trap doesn’t matter. I’m here to spring the trap.”

Vader scowls behind his mask at this bravado. It’s an attitude his younger self might have voiced. He was always the insouciant hero back in those days. But there isn’t time for this stubborn hubris right now. 

“I’m setting you free,” Vader announces, eyeing Luke’s bound wrists that he plans to remedy. “You need to get out of here. You can’t win. Sheev will either kill you or make me kill you. Don’t waste your life like that. Get in a ship and be ready to blow up the Death Star when the shield fails.”

“No.”

Vader isn’t a man accustomed to having his orders disobeyed. He growls back, “Make yourself useful and destroy the weapon. I can ensure your people disable the shield gate.” 

He will pretend to wait for Luke here on Endor like his Master instructed while Luke ‘escapes’ and the shield gate ‘malfunctions.’ Vader only has to keep the ruse credible long enough to give Luke time to blow the weapon with his Master on it. It’s very doable, Vader assesses, and it will avoid a direct confrontation with Sheev. It won’t be the first time Vader has improvised a battle plan. 

“No.” It’s more knee-jerk rejection.

“Whaat?” Vader snarls. 

“No.” Luke’s third refusal is quiet but emphatic, like the rest. “Take me to the Emperor,” he requests solemnly. “I have a mission to complete.”

And now, it’s Vader’s turn to refuse. Fuming, he turns and walks away a bit down the corridor they occupy. Vader has to work hard at mastering his temper. He’s thoroughly upset with where he fears this is heading. So upset, in fact, that he declines to raise the issue of Astral’s attack. Because introducing more conflict between him and Luke will not improve things, Vader knows.

Remembering the weapon he’s holding, Vader ignites it. To his credit, Luke doesn’t flinch. Vader inspects the humming, brilliant green blade Luke has fashioned. “I see you have constructed a new lightsaber.” He’s seen it once before briefly on Naboo. “Your skills are complete. Indeed, you are powerful, as the Emperor has foreseen.” Vader‘s praise is begrudging and resigned. He turns to face his son as he adds, “But you have a lot to learn. You’re not a Jedi yet and you’re no match for Darth Sidious.” It’s not criticism, it’s tough love to save his foolhardy kid. 

They stand in tense silence for a moment, then Vader extinguishes the lightsaber. He doesn’t hand it back. 

Luke is undeterred. “Come with me,” he requests. “We’ll do it together. Our combined Light will face down Darkness.”

Vader turns away. He won’t be swayed by the romantic notion of good conquering evil. That’s not how the Force works. Not with Sheev so powerful, Luke so green, and himself basically a cripple. “Obi-Wan once thought as you do,” he recalls aloud. Padme had felt the same way. “But I can’t be Jedi again.“

“You mean you won’t,” Luke sighs. He’s clearly disappointed but not surprised. He inhales a deep breath and his shoulders rise and fall with the effort. “Very well. Take me to your Emperor.”

So his zealot kid can martyr himself like countless Jedi before him? Not a chance. Vader growls out another warning, “You don't know the power of the Dark Side. I must obey my Master. If he gets us both in the same room, I’ll have to kill you.” That is the way of the Sith—it’s kill or be killed. 

Luke has accepted that fate, it seems. He nods. “I will not turn and you'll be forced to kill me.”

“If that is your destiny,” Vader grumbles. But he doesn’t want that outcome. It’s why he wants Luke to flee. This is exactly the sort of suicide mission Vader has decided against for years for himself. But his son must be using Obi-Wan as an example because his face bears the same righteous smugness his old Master wore when Vader struck him down. 

Earnest Luke lays on the hard sell now. “Search your feelings, Father. You can't do this. I feel the conflict within you. Let go of your hate. Come with me to the Light.” Then the upstart pup has the gall to offer his shackled hands. “Join me,” he coos, employing an old Jedi mind trick that has insulting implications. “I’ll help you.”

Vader bristles. Does Luke think that the threat of his own death is enough to shake his conviction? Is this a de facto ultimatum? Those tactics are unpersuasive. Vader is truly weary of this type of argument and the tone of his reply shows it. “It is too late for me, son.” Just because he doesn’t want to kill his own kid doesn’t mean he’s ready to rejoin the Jedi. Just what sort of simplistic morality play does Luke think he’s in? 

Obviously, his son believes the Jedi view that the Dark Side makes you an unmitigated killer. And that is selling Darkness short. The Dark Side is far more subtle and much more disciplined than the Jedi ever understood. Sheev Palpatine didn’t get where he is today by overplaying his hand. He was sly and strategic for many years until he obtained power, got sloppy, and let it go to his head. 

Vader warns his kid again, “Do not underestimate the power of the Emperor. Leave now while you can.”

“I’m going to see your Master, whether you take me there or not.”

“I’m the only one who can get you in,” Vader counters coolly. 

“I don’t need you for an introduction. I’ll fly right to him myself.”

“They will shoot you down before you can land.”

“No, they won’t. It’s me and my abilities he wants.”

The kid is right. He gets it. Appalled Vader realizes his worst fears are coming true. Because his boy is hellbent on becoming a martyr. He’s not here to kill Darth Sidious. He’s just here to keep the Emperor busy long enough for his friends to blow up the Death Star . . . or so he thinks. This is the trap his Master laid, knowing this fervent would-be Jedi would take the bait. Luke probably doesn’t even know that the Death Star is operational, let alone that a fleet of ships is hiding behind this moon’s orbit lying in wait. For all Vader knows, Sheev has also beefed up security down here on Endor. 

“Luke—“

“I’m doing this with or without you,” his boy interrupts testily. He’s clearly committed and unwilling to back down. Luke refuses to entertain alternatives because he doesn’t trust him, Vader realizes. 

Still, he tries again. “Luke—“

“I mean it.”

Vader believes it. Over the years, he’s become very experienced with martyring Jedi himself. “This is a suicide mission,” he growls, “and it won’t work.”

Luke shoots him a withering look. “Not everyone is you.”

What the Hell is that supposed to mean? Vader is stung. He snaps, “You’re sure not me! I think you’re your mother all over again. This is just the sort of thing she would do.” Fuck--this is actually the longest, best conversation he’s had with his son yet. They’re no closer to agreement, however. Seething at the utter waste of Luke’s plan, Vader gripes, “So be it. I will take you to my Master.” 

He gestures with one hand to open a door with the Force and signals to some distant stormtroopers to approach. He and Luke stand staring at one another for a long moment. “I will never be Jedi again,” Vader reiterates.

“Then my father is truly dead,” Luke sniffs. 

It’s more sanctimony. Moreover, it’s wrong. Because Vader feels so damned responsible for this kid—for this young zealot he has spawned—that he’s going to escort Luke to his Master. This is the scenario he swore he would never allow, but he can’t let Luke do this suicide mission on his own. Not if there is a chance to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Maybe if he can keep Sheev convinced that he’s keen to turn Luke, Vader will find an opportunity to prevent the tragedy he fears is coming. 

Fuck! This is everything he ever feared would happen. This is his fault, Vader knows. This is Obi-Wan’s fault, too. Also, Yoda’s fault and Sheev’s fault. But not Luke’s fault. This poor duped kid is a pawn in a larger struggle he only half comprehends. But he’s too brainwashed to see any solution other than this. 

A parent’s first responsibility is to protect their child. And since Vader has failed at every other aspect of parenthood, he’s determined to at least attempt to fulfill his role in this instance. It’s what Padme would expect. And that’s how Vader finds himself escorting his adult son in handcuffs to his Master. 

Of all the humiliating moments of his life, this is the worst. There can be no greater failure than this. It surpasses choking Padme and leaping to attack Obi-Wan standing on the high ground. That this moment is completely avoidable is galling. Vader did his best to keep this confrontation from occurring. Even the Force is angry about it, judging by its frenetic swirls and pulses. The universe doesn’t want this to happen, but free will has intervened nonetheless.

“Welcome, young Skywalker. I have been expecting you.” Sheev purrs out the greeting with cloying smugness. Vader can almost hear the lust for power in his voice.

Luke peers defiantly at the hooded figure on the throne on the high dais. He says nothing in response. 

The Emperor looks down at Luke's tethered wrists. “You no longer need those.” Sheev motions with a gnarled finger and the binders fall away. It’s a showy display of Force that demonstrates Sheev does not consider Luke to be a threat.

Luke does not react to the diss. His expression is very composed, but not sullen. He’s more determined than grim. It’s a face that means business. A face far too old for one so young. 

“Guards, leave us,” Sheev orders. Behind them, the Imperial guards disappear with a whisper of red robes and quick footfalls of heavy boots. 

Now, it is just the three of them. The son, the father, and the Emperor. The Jedi, the Apprentice, and the Sith Master. A Light knight, the Chosen One, and a Dark Lord. Whatever happens in the next few minutes, Vader knows with certainty that someone is dying. 

Because no one in this room trusts anyone else. 

No one in this room has the same objective. 

No one in this room has the same ideology. 

Simply put, there is no common ground. This will only be settled with violence. 

Any way their trio aligns, Vader fears his Master comes out the winner. With a heavy heart, Vader also knows that his son has only two outcomes for this confrontation. He can die or take his father’s place at Darth Sidious’ side as the new Apprentice. Which is the preferable choice? Vader has been the Apprentice long enough to know it’s a bad gig. But is it worse than death? So far, his own answer has been no. But for Luke? Probably yes.

“I'm looking forward to completing your training,” Sheev announces with transparent glee. “In time, you will call me ‘Master.’”

This time, Luke talks back. He uses the language of his religion, steeped in notions of morality. Of the Dark Side as a fall from grace, as a shameful lapse of judgement, and as a seductive lie. It’s quintessentially Jedi. “You're gravely mistaken. You won't convert me as you did my father,” Luke answers.

The Emperor climbs down from his throne and walks up close. Yellow-eyed, wizened Sheev Palpatine looks into Luke’s eyes as he corrects him. “Oh no, my young Jedi. You will find that it is you who are mistaken . . . about a great many things.”

**“**His lightsaber.” Vader extends a gloved hand to offer Luke's weapon. The Emperor takes it covetously. 

**“**Ah yes, a Jedi's weapon. Much like your father's.” Sheev sneers hard at the youth as he clutches the saber hilt. “By now, you must know your father can never be turned from the Dark Side. So will it be with you.”

“You're wrong,” Luke counters calmly. Then, the foolish kid gives his own plan away. “Soon I'll be dead and you with me.”

The Emperor laughs. It’s an ugly sound that Vader still finds unsettling after all these years of hearing it. “Perhaps you refer to the imminent attack of your Rebel fleet?” 

Luke looks up sharply. Maybe he hadn’t believed down on Endor that this is, in fact, a trap? Did Luke think it a bluff to scare him into doing his bidding? Because Luke acts surprised and Vader fumes some more. 

“Yes,” the Emperor announces with a tight smile, “I assure you we are quite safe from your friends here.”

“Your overconfidence is your weakness,” Luke observes. 

Sheev shoots back immediately, “Your faith in your friends is yours.”

His Master looks to him and Vader takes the cue. “It is pointless to resist, my son.” Vader says the words woodenly. He’s playacting the part of dutiful Apprentice, like he has done for years. 

Sheev now reveals what Vader has suspected: “Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design. Your friends up there on the sanctuary moon are walking into a trap as is your Rebel fleet. It was I who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator.”

Listening Vader wonders for how long this plan has been in the works. Did Sheev leak the information before he himself did? For how long has his Master been orchestrating this Skywalker showdown? Probably as soon as he learned of the boy’s existence. No doubt his Master has been angling to trade up to a younger, more powerful Apprentice all along. 

Sheev is his usual nasty self as he promises Luke, “It is quite safe from your pitiful little band. An entire legion of my best troops awaits them.”

Luke eyes dart from the Emperor to Vader and, finally, to his sword now lying on the handrest to the Emperor's throne.

Sheev recognizes the temptation to violence and lays on the sarcasm. “Oh . . . I’m afraid the deflector shield will be quite operational when your friends arrive.” He says this like a childish playground taunt.

Again, Vader watches as Luke’s eyes land on his sword. Sheev’s using a classic Dark Side ploy. You goad the Jedi captive into losing his cool and giving in to emotion. Because before you demonstrate the supremacy of Dark power, a Sith first forces you to stray from your ideals. It’s humiliation to sweeten the eventual victory. Sheev’s toying with Luke.

“Come, boy. See for yourself.” Sheev gestures to the windows behind his throne. Already, there can be seen distant flashes from the space battle in progress. The Rebel attack got here too early, Vader judges. The Death Star’s shield is still up. And now, the hidden Imperial fleet has launched its attack. “From here, you will witness the final destruction of the Alliance, and the end of your insignificant Rebellion.” 

This, then, is Sheev’s plot. He lured the Rebels here to amass for a final attack. Sheev will test the newly operational Death Star on the Rebels themselves while he simultaneously lures Luke Skywalker to the Dark Side. It will be a military and political victory to demonstrate the beneficial uses of his new super weapon to the galaxy. And it will be an important strategic victory to marginalize the only existential threat left—the resurgent Light Side and its champion Luke Skywalker. 

“You want this, don't you?” Sheev taunts the upset boy who is trying hard to master his emotions and keep his concentration. “The hate is swelling in you now. Take your Jedi weapon. Use it. I am unarmed. Strike me down with it. Give in to your anger. With each passing moment, you make yourself more my servant,” the Emperor crows. 

“N-No . . .” Luke disavows the temptation. 

“It is unavoidable. It is your destiny. You, like your father, are now mine,” Sheev proclaims. And in that moment, Vader hates him more than ever. 

Watching Sheev goad Luke, all Vader can think is that this conflict is a distinction without a difference. Why should it matter if you hurt someone with Dark anger in your heart or you do it as Light Side justice? The goal is still the same. Yes, intent matters. It’s what separates murder from manslaughter. But why does the Force determine intent? And when it comes to revenge and legitimate punishment, are those motivations really that different? Who cares if Luke attacks the Emperor for revenge or he does it to rid the galaxy of a true tyrant? Dead is dead and, in this case, it’s the optimal solution. All this melodrama about the violence to come is useless preamble in his opinion.

This is what made him was a lousy Jedi, Vader knows. At some point in the Clone Wars, he grew tired of all the Jedi limitations on warfare. War made him cynical over time, and he became increasingly indifferent to the distinctions the Jedi clung to. If the Separatists weren’t going to play by the rules, why should the Republic? Why not use the Separatists’ own tactics against them? What’s so wrong with using Dark means for a Light goal?

The Jedi answer is the slippery slope. That once you start down the Dark path forever will it dominate your destiny. That paranoia about Darkness is why the Jedi never really understood balance. It’s why their very existence impeded the true goal of the universe. It is one of many reasons why Vader is glad the cult that raised him is gone.

But watching Luke now, Vader knows it’s only a matter of time before his son gives in and grabs for his sword with the Force. He’s too upset and too desperate, Vader sees. Luke is very invested emotionally in his comrades in the Rebellion. Plus, the kid’s whole strategy is to prolong this confrontation to give the Alliance attack plan time to play out. Luke needs to keep this going in order to keep Sheev busy.

But once Luke grabs his sword, Vader will be forced to do the same to keep his boy from fighting Sheev directly. Where this goes from there is anyone’s best guess, Vader fears. Maybe the best strategy is to draw this out as long as possible in hopes the Rebels will blow the station with all of them aboard it. Vader has never been keen on mutual destruction strategies, but more and more it’s looking like his best option. He, Sheev, and Luke can all die here together provided the shield crashes and some Rebel pilot can make the shot at the reactor. And then, the Force will balance by default since everyone with any true knowledge will be gone.

From the view out the throne room windows, it appears that the Rebel fleet is being systematically decimated. There are repeated flashes of explosions that evaporate almost immediately in the vacuum of space. Twisted hunks of debris float aimlessly to bounce off the shields of the larger capital ships. But here in the Death Star throne room, there is no sound of battle. They are far removed from the fierce fighting that will ostensibly determine the course of the galaxy. The real fight, Vader knows, is what’s happening here. 

“As you can see, my young Apprentice, your friends have failed. Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station.” Sheev toggles the comlink switch on his throne to relay the order. “Fire at will, Commander.” Sheev’s smile is wide and sly as the Death Star begins firing.

Darth Sidious lets Luke watch and seethe for long minutes in silence. Then, he speaks slowly and emphatically. “Your fleet has lost and your friends on the Endor moon will not survive. There is no escape, my young Apprentice. The Alliance will die . . . as will your friends.”

Luke's eyes are full of frustration as Vader continues to watch him closely. This kid is going to crack soon, he judges. Luke is very quick to violence. Vader recalls how his son had been the aggressor on Bespin and then again on Naboo. 

“Good.” Sheev closes his eyes to relish the strong emotion revealed in the Force. “I can feel your anger. I am defenseless. Take your weapon!” he exhorts. “Strike me down with all of your hatred, and your journey towards the Dark Side will be complete.”

Well, maybe, Vader thinks, but not necessarily. But his Jedi taught son doesn’t know that. Luke believes, like Sheev does, that the Force is an either/or proposition. It’s what’s so fundamentally wrong about this whole conflict, Vader knows.

Luke can resist no longer. The lightsaber flies into his hand. He ignites it in an instant and swings at the Emperor. 

But Vader anticipates him. His own blade flashes up to meet the attack, blocking Luke’s blow. The two humming blades spark at contact and lock for an instant as each man presses his strength. This battle has been a long time in coming, but it’s unavoidable now. Here is the fight that Luke says he doesn’t want and Vader can see no way to avoid. And above it all rings Sheev’s ugly cackle. Luke’s aggression has found a new target. The young Jedi turns to fight his father as Darth Sidious smiles his approval. 

Once the saber swinging starts, it continues but the talking stops. That’s fine with Vader. He concentrates on the quick swordplay. Let’s see what new skills his kid has picked up since Bespin, he thinks. 

There is nothing quite like the sound of lightsaber blades clashing. Nothing like the feel of the Force ready and waiting for your command. It always gets Vader’s adrenaline pumping. Combat is a rush as good as sex. He’s always been a sucker for violence and speed. But damn, his kid is fast. Luke’s come a long way since they crossed swords once before. His saber passes are all conventional and performed in expected succession, but they are much improved in form and executed with lightning speed. It makes Vader feel clumsy and slow by comparison. 

Luke might profess the creed of the Jedi, but he’s tapping heavily into the Dark Side. Does he even know it? Probably not. It might be instinctive, since he is the son of the Chosen One. Try though he might, Vader predicts, Luke will never walk wholly in the Light. And that’s a relief actually. In time, without Obi-Wan and Yoda around to reinforce the Jedi Code, Luke will drift into his own views and find his own way. Provided he lives through today, that is.

Vader catches his mind wandering. He needs to focus on this duel before Luke lands a blow. That last right jab was savage. Well played, kid, well played. It’s impressive how much better his son has grown since Bespin. Vader can’t repress a tinge of pride. But now, the advantage shifts to Luke. Vader is forced back, losing his balance, and is knocked down the stairs. Luke stands at the top of the steps, ready for another attack.

Sheev is a keen audience to the fight, watching like this is a spectator sport. “Good. Goood. Use your aggressive feelings, boy! Let the hate flow through you,” he cheerleaders like the Sith he is. 

Luke glances momentarily toward the Emperor. Suddenly, he realizes he is using the Dark Side. Aghast, Luke steps back, turns off his lightsaber, and attempts to reassemble his Light Side Jedi mindset. For the boy is, as always, terrified to use the full spectrum of the Force.

Actually, Vader appreciates the breather though he would never admit it. “Obi-Wan has taught you well,” he commends a little wistfully. That last saber pass was a favorite of Kenobi’s. Even all these years later, Vader recognizes his old Mentor’s handiwork. He also recognizes that Luke does that move better than Obi-Wan ever did. His kid has talent. Lots and lots of talent.

What he lacks, however, is focus. Frazzled Luke now swallows hard as he changes his tune. “I will not fight you, Father,” he decides rather belatedly. Luke’s clearly still grasping for the Jedi moral high ground in this fight. 

Vader walks back up the stairs to Luke. He knows he has to keep this fight going. It will give the Rebels more time and perhaps it will provide an opening for some acceptable solution here in the throne room. So with his Master giving him the watchful, warning eye, Vader dutifully growls, “You are unwise to lower your defenses,” before he attacks. It’s a halfhearted swing, but he makes it look good. 

Luke is on the defensive. But his son quickly leaps in a reverse flip up to the safety of a catwalk overhead. It’s a classic old school Jedi move that Vader himself might once have used. But his agile days are over. Vader is stuck standing below, looking up. 

Luke starts in again on his Light Side pitch. “Your thoughts betray you, Father. I feel the good in you . . . the conflict.”

Vader could say the same for his Jedi kid with the strong streak of Darkness. Luke’s conflicted too just in the reverse. And that’s no surprise. They are the Chosen Ones, descended from the Force itself. Born to be a mix of Light and Dark. But that’s not what Sheev wants to hear, so Vader disavows the assertion. “There is no conflict.” The last thing Vader needs right now is Sheev thinking he’s reverting to his Jedi allegiance so he and Luke can gang up on him. Keeping Sheev a spectator and not a participant is the main goal of this fight.

But Luke continues his ploy. “You couldn't bring yourself to kill me before, and I don't believe you'll destroy me now.“ Clearly, the kid doesn’t recognize that Vader is playing to his Master’s audience. Or if he does, Luke mistrusts his motives. Or maybe he simply doesn’t care about the subtleties at work and he just wants to make his point. 

But Vader keeps his role, warning, “You underestimate the power of the Dark Side. If you will not fight, then you will meet your destiny.“ 

With that grandiose threat, Vader throws his sword and it cuts through the supports holding the catwalk upon which Luke stands. The young Jedi tumbles to the ground in a shower of sparks and groaning metal. Luke immediately rolls out of sight under the Emperor's platform. 

Vader moves to find him.

“Good. Gooood,” Sheev purrs from above. And truthfully, Vader isn’t sure who his Master is rooting for—himself or his son. But maybe it doesn’t matter because either way, Sheev wins. 

Vader now stalks the low-ceilinged area on the level below the throne, searching for Luke in the semi-darkness. His lightsaber is held ready as he intones, “You cannot hide forever, Luke.“ It’s an ironic statement because Vader would have been perfectly happy to let his kid hide for years. But Luke had to ruin that status quo with this surrender stunt of his. That’s why they’re all in this predicament now.

“I will not fight you,” the boy persists. Truthfully, Vader is a bit confused now. Because Luke is supposed to be here to fight the Emperor. Did he not realize that you first have to fight the Apprentice to get to the Master? 

Vader’s the one in the no-win situation thanks to his stubborn boy. He doesn’t want to kill his kid, but he also doesn’t want to die himself. And if Sheev kills Luke, then Vader wants to preserve his Apprentice role. That context makes this a very tricky situation to play. 

But he gives it a go. “Give yourself to the Dark Side. It is the only way you can save your friends.” There’s no use offering his boy other inducements. Luke Skywalker doesn’t want power or influence or he would have accepted the offer from Bespin. The only thing that seems to sway the kid is his cause and his friends. 

“Yes, your thoughts betray you. Your feelings for them are strong. Especially for . . .” Whoops. Vader instantly wishes he hadn’t gone there. Because Luke has little in the way of mental shields to hide his thoughts and right now he’s thinking of the princess . . . his sister Leia Organa. 

Luke knows who she is. Vader’s eyes pop wide behind his mask at the realization. 

Well, fuck. Things keep getting worse. Because now Luke’s knowledge is screaming out in the Force, meaning Sheev is getting all of this. Somewhere in that fight in space or on Endor, Leia Organa is in pain and Luke is sensing it. Luke’s inexperience just put a big target on his secret sister’s back. 

Vader fights the urge to groan. How does he play this? Instinctively, he acts to preserve his plausible deniability. Because if Luke dies and he lives, Vader still needs Sheev’s goodwill. So, he feigns surprise. “Sister! So . . . you have a twin sister. Your feelings have now betrayed her, too. Obi-Wan was wise to hide her from me. Now, his failure is complete.” And, just to underscore for Sheev his allegiance, Vader muses aloud, “If you will not turn to the Dark Side, then perhaps she will.”

It’s a mistake to goad Luke that way. Luke’s a Skywalker and the Skywalkers one and all revere family ties. Luke now reveals himself from the shadows as he gallantly charges to his sister’s defense, “Never-r-r!” 

The kid is Dark again now, raging at his father. It’s disappointment mixed with resentment and a strong sense of abandonment. This young Rebel is angry, so very angry. Luke blames him for killing Obi-Wan, for torturing his sister, and for carbon freezing his best friend. He blames him for destroying the Jedi Order and for collapsing the Republic. Also, for all the excesses of the Empire and the slaughter of the Rebels who opposed it. Vader is at fault for the gruesome, gratuitous murder of the aunt and uncle who fostered Luke as a child. Also for Luke’s backwater, lackluster upbringing in hiding on Tatooine. But most of all, Luke feels cheated. He’s deeply upset at the loss of the good Jedi hero Obi-Wan led him to believe Anakin Skywalker was. This boy feels betrayed by the shameful man his father really is. And he will protect what little he has left—his sister—from the threat of the Dark Side and Darth Vader. 

Luke lets loose with a series of saber passes that advance as Vader falls back. It’s a focused frenzy of swings in the cramped, dim area. Vader retreats fast as the sparks fly and the swings persist. They emerge together out from the underpinnings of the throne room and the onslaught continues unabated. Vader puts up little defense as he keeps ceding ground. He has one eye on his son’s sword and the other eye on Sheev who has climbed down from his throne to investigate. 

Soon Vader finds himself on a bridge strut that supports the main reactor shaft. And that’s not good. If there’s one lesson from all the Jedi-Sith duels come before this one, it’s never to fight near a precipice. Someone always goes over. And this time, it looks like it’s going to be him. For each stroke of Luke's sword drives Vader further toward defeat. The boy is just too unwittingly Dark. Too aggrieved for the situation he finds himself in. The poor kid is talking Jedi but acting bona fide Sith. 

Darth Sidious, of course, loves it.

Suddenly worried, Vader keeps looking for an opening to change the fight dynamic. By pulling his punches, he has gotten himself cornered in an increasingly precarious position. But before he knows it, Vader stumbles backwards, almost knocked to the ground. As Vader raises his sword in defense to block another fierce onslaught, his son keeps swinging. Vader goes down. Luke is pummeling him now, raging harder with each vicious stroke. He vents his rage with his sword, his contorted face a mask of pain. It continues until finally Luke slashes his right hand off at the wrist. 

His Jedi son takes his revenge for Bespin. 

“Arrrrhhhh!” Vader cries out in pain. For while the limb he loses is artificial, the sensation is real. His sword is gone now, flying away along with his prosthetic. He’s left waving a stump with wires poking out. But all he can see is the glowing green tip of Luke’s lightsaber poised at his throat. 

This is it—the Dooku moment when the old Apprentice dies as the new one rises. Sheev wins again, Vader admits with a sinking heart. He only wishes it was some other poor kid who got his job and not Luke. His son deserves better than this. Plus, all along his confused boy has been adamant that he doesn’t want to repeat his father’s choices. And yet, here he is making them all over again. 

Sheev is pleased. “Good! Your hate has made you powerful. Now, fulfill your destiny and take your father's place at my side!”

Luke looks stunned as his eyes find Vader’s missing hand and then his own black-gloved prosthetic. It’s the tangible evidence of how much Luke is becoming like his hated father. It’s everything Luke fears. For his boy has been as consistent as he has been vehement in his rejection.

As Sheev pants for power, Luke abruptly steps back to disengage. He blinks a second in a moment of self-realization. Then, he hurls his lightsaber away in disgust. 

“Never!” Luke announces, his chest heaving from the exertion of the fight. He faces Sheev head on now as he vows, “I'll never turn to the Dark Side. You've failed, Your Highness.” Luke nods back to him on lying the ground as he declares, “I am a Jedi, like my father before me.” 

‘Like my father before me.’ Not, ‘like my father.’ It’s no surprise that his boy disowns Vader’s current self. Luke said it before—his father truly is dead. Anakin Skywalker died the moment he knelt in the Chancellor’s office to pledge Sith. But that Jedi hero is who Luke considers to be his real father, not Darth Vader. 

It’s more implicit rejection. It’s also a death wish. For with those words, Luke condemns himself. In the space of a few seconds, Vader has gone from soon-to-be-dead loser to default winner, and Luke has gone from star Apprentice to sacrificial victim. 

The Emperor's glee now turns to cold rage. Sheev never takes ‘no’ well, and certainly not from a Jedi. Moreover, the chance to become the Apprentice is an offer you can’t refuse. The answers are ‘yes’ or death. Sheev now purses his lips and croaks out, “So be it . . . Jedi,” with maximum disdain. 

Defiant Luke stands still as the Emperor descends to the bottom of the stairs. Sheev raises his arms. 

Vader swallows hard. He knows what’s coming next. He’s powerless to stop it.

“If you will not be turned, you will be destroyed,” his Master hisses. Then, he lets loose with Force lightning. This is the most potent form of the Dark Side. It is hate made manifest. And, it is his sadist Master’s favorite form of punishment. Vader knows firsthand how much it hurts. Those streaks of blue fire penetrate deep even though they do not leave external marks.

Luke is taken by surprise and incapable of deflecting the onslaught of Dark Force energy. It encircles his body as he writhes on the ground in screaming agony. All the while, wounded Vader struggles to his feet, a helpless spectator to his son’s execution. 

Sheev is thoroughly enjoying the melodrama. That he has enslaved the Skywalker father, killed the mother, and is now killing the son is no doubt an excellent denouement in his mind for the clan of the Chosen Ones. How neatly Darth Sidious has defeated his rival demigods of the Force. No wonder Sheev believes he is the ultimate power in the universe. 

“Young fool,” he chides as Luke heaves in pain on the ground, “only now, at the end, do you understand.”

Vader watches wincing behind the mask, his own considerable discomfort forgotten. Luke is almost unconscious now beneath the continuing assault. Any second, Vader worries, Sheev will toss him into the reactor chasm with a mighty Force push. But Sheev being Sheev, he prolongs the lead up. His Master loves a slow kill. 

Sheev ceases again to make certain that Luke hears. “Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the Dark Side. You will pay the price for your lack of vision.”

Then once more Sheev resumes his torture. Luke jerks and contorts on the floor in unnatural positions in an effort to withstand the pain. The boy’s eyes squint up towards him. “Father, please,” he moans. The words are not very intelligible to Vader’s ears, but they are unmistakable in the Force. “H-Help me . . . “ Luke outright begs. 

Vader can imagine how hopeless his son must be to appeal for his help. This kid is proud and disdainful of his father. It’s why this awful moment must be so humbling. For here is proof of the potent Dark Side that Vader warned about and Luke tried to ignore. Did Luke really think this would be a battle only with swords?

Vader stands there, watching first his Master and then Luke. He is very uncomfortable knowing that he himself is usually the one on the floor being victimized.

“Now, young Skywalker . . . you will die,” Sheev promises. Luke will be the final Jedi martyr on a very long list that began with Order 66. This is turning out just like Vader always feared it would. And that is so dispiriting.

Now more than ever, he hates his Master. Twenty years ago, Sheev maneuvered a desperate and disgruntled Jedi into being his designated killer, all for the illusory promise of saving Padme. And now, a generation later, how neatly Sheev exploits the conflict between father and son to destroy yet another promising young man. And it’s not over yet. Vader has no doubt that when Sheev is done with Luke, he will set his sights on Leia. And then, once again, Vader will be a witness to his own child’s death. 

It’s all so wrong, so twisted, and so heartbreaking. This is never how Vader wanted things to turn out. He would never have agreed to turn Sith if he understood that it meant sacrificing Padme, not saving her. So why now is he willing to sacrifice his children to keep his Apprentice role? So he can remain Sheev’s whipping boy behind closed doors and the galaxy’s greatest villain to the public? So that he can make tepid plots to forestall his Master’s excesses rather than bold moves to balance the Force? All the excuses and rationales of two decades fall away.

Vader decides he has had enough. This is his breaking point. 

Twenty years the Apprentice finally comes to its fruition as Vader asserts himself. He has opposed his Master covertly for years, but today his rebellion will be overt. He knows there will be consequences, but he’s past caring. 

“Noooooo!” he bellows. With a lunge, Vader picks up Sheev bodily from behind, ignoring the Force lightning that now encircles him instead of Luke. It burns deep, instantly frying circuitry in his prosthetics and his suit. But Vader is committed and he will see this through. As his body immediately weakens, his spirit picks up the slack as Vader draws upon the Force to sustain him in this final act. 

Holding his Master high over his head, Vader staggers to the edge of the platform. With one final Force-assisted burst of his once awesome strength, Vader hurls the Emperor into the bottomless shaft like he is casting out a demon.

As the Emperor spins helplessly into the void of the reactor shaft, Vader crashes down hard on his knees. His legs are failing him, as are his other prosthetics and enhancements. So much so that Vader is barely aware when he is buffeted by the rush of roaring air as Sheev expires in an explosion of Darkness. It’s as if all the Force energy concentrated within Darth Sidious dissipates back into the universe. The cosmos, which had skewed hard to Darkness, now begins to right itself. To balance. 

Vader sags precariously. He doesn’t have the strength or the motor skills to control his bulky body. But Luke crawls to his side and pulls him away from the precipice. The boy says nothing as they both sprawl side by side in the bowels of the Death Star throne room. 

Then suddenly, the giant space station rocks. Luke raises his head to meet his eyes through his mask. He says what they’re both thinking: “The shield is down.” With that, his kid staggers to his feet. Then, Luke surprises Vader when he struggles mightily to heft his big body over his shoulders. 

“Leave me,” Vader orders. He can still talk even if he can’t physically resist. “Save yourself,” he commands. Truthfully, at this point, Vader doesn’t much care what happens to him.

But, as usual, his stubborn son disagrees. In this, as in everything, he and Luke see things differently. “Your fate will be the same as mine,” the Jedi grumbles as he summons the Force to help carry him. 

Sheev keeps a shuttle prepped and waiting at all times in case he needs to escape. It’s in a special landing bay adjacent to the throne room, which is very convenient today. They don’t have to get far to flee. 

From the sirens blaring and many rushing troopers and officers they pass, Vader can tell that panic has set in. A few heads turn to notice the black uniformed young man assisting wounded Darth Vader. The men probably figure that Luke’s an Imperial officer. While no one stops to help, no one questions their authority to command the Emperor’s transport either. 

Exhaustion now overcomes Luke. The kid was just fried by lightning, so he is most definitely weakened. How he has managed to drag his armored bulk this far is nothing short of amazing. They are nearly to the shuttle ramp when they collapse in a heap. And that’s when Vader decides that he’s a lost cause. He’s fading fast. Very fast. All his life support systems are malfunctioning. So before his son can tug him up again, Vader preempts him.

“Luke, help me take this mask off,” he wheezes.

“But you’ll die,” Luke protests.

“Nothing can stop that now.” His earnest boy still thinks he’s trying to save him. Luke doesn’t know that it’s far too late for that. Maybe if Astral or Vanee were here with a triage bag to shoot him full of oxygen injections, this situation would be salvageable. But that’s not an option and neither is going to the infirmary for help right now. And it’s alright. Truly alright. Now, so many years later, Vader finally understands how Padme felt as they were led into that arena on Geonosis. She had said aloud that she wasn’t afraid to die and her words had rang with truth. 

That’s how resigned Vader feels now. He’s not afraid to die but first he wants to get a few things off his chest. He wants no ambiguity or misunderstanding between him and Luke. And that starts with removing his mask. More than anything, he wants Luke to see him for the man he truly is, and not the monster Luke believes him to be. So, Vader requests in halting gasps, “Just for once . . . let me look on you with my own eyes . . . ”

Slowly, hesitantly, Luke reaches to unseal the mask. The boy who marched fearlessly into Sheev’s throne room looks truly terrified now. Clearly, Luke is imagining the worst. Ordinary, Vader would be shy about this moment. He is very self-conscious about his deformities. But it’s far too late to care about that now. With what little time he has left, Vader wants to show Luke that he is a real human being. That there is a person beneath the enigma mask. That his father is a man, even if he looks like a machine.

Even with unfocused eyes, Vader can see that Luke’s hands tremble as he lifts off the swooping helmet. Slowly, the boy tips forward the inner portion to reveal his hidden face. Luke blinks a few seconds at his scarred, pale visage. His expression is blank. Whatever expectations his son had for what Darth Vader might look like, he didn’t meet them. Vader can’t decide if that is good or bad. More than anything, Luke just looks sad. Pity normally annoys Vader but not now. For there is nothing trite or superficial about this moment. This is real and it is meaningful.

He’s so weak now and time is running out. The time for goodbyes will be fleeting. “Now go, my son . . . “ Vader urges. “Leave me.” Already, Vader can hear explosions around them. Luke doesn’t have much time. He needs to get out of here before some pilot takes the shot at the reactor and the Death Star blows.

Luke looks very determined now. “No, you’re coming with me. I won’t leave you here. I’ve got to save you.”

Vader nods slightly. “You already have.” 

This boy saved him from the only thing he truly fears. Not Sheev, who might best him in power but never in merit. Not death, which he has flirted with far too many times. And not pain and loss, with whom he is long acquainted. No, this boy saved him from failure. From being a miserable man whose bad choices squandered his potential. From enduring years of suffering and isolation that in the end had no meaning. No longer will he worry that he let everyone down. For the glorious moment when he killed Sheev Palpatine ensures the future will be safe and the Death Star will not survive.

Since he was ten years old, he has known that he is the Chosen One. But what does that mean? Today, Vader got his answer. He was born to die for the balance of the Force. To fall mortally wounded in the act of repudiating his arrogant Master and the Dark excess he stood for. The Jedi are gone, the Sith are no more. Finally, Vader hopes, the universe can move on. 

But he won’t be here to see it. “You were r-right . . .” He heaves the words out, each breath so painful and woefully insufficient. “You were right about me . . . “ Today, Luke finally perceived the conflict within him and understood it. That is an enormous step forward in understanding balance, Vader firmly believes. In time, hopefully his boy will recognize the conflict born into himself as well. “Tell your s-sister . . . you were right . . .“

Tell your sister that I’m not the evildoer she believes me to be. Tell her that I have done bad things but for good reasons. I’m not a bad person and I have tried my best. Vader has so much to say, but the words won’t come out. He cannot summon the effort. More and more, he feels his focus slipping and his Force ebbing.

That also means he will not get to say all the words he wishes Luke would tell Astral. He wants Astral to know that he loves her. That she came into his life when he needed hope the most. That looking back, he fell in love with her when she first tried to remove his mask, fearing him dead but wanting to be sure in case she could help. That’s Astral at her core—always trying to help. She has pulled him back from the brink of despair several times now. She’ll never know how much that means to him.

“Father—“ His wandering, increasingly fuzzy mind now vaguely registers Luke’s voice. “I won’t leave you.” 

But Vader is the one who is leaving. He feels himself slipping from the realm of the living. And this time, there is no voice of Qui-Gon Jinn in his mind urging him to persevere. There is only peace and release. Finally, he will be set free of his mortal body to return to the Force from which he came. Soon, there will be no more pain, no more prosthetics, no more respirator, and no more mask and suit. Vader has held death at bay many times over many years, but not today. Today, he welcomes it.

This veteran is a weary warrior ready to lay down arms. His fight is done and the work passes on to this valiant son who Vader is not sure how he feels about. But whatever his misguided zealot kid’s mistakes will be, they surely won’t top his own. And that’s really all the reassurance Vader needs. He’s certain that today, after so many missteps and bad calls, he has finally done something meaningful that is right. And if by some unholy Dark magic Sheev isn’t dead after that spectacular fall, then hopefully he will be sidelined long enough for Luke and Plagueis to fix things.

But his part is done. His destiny is fulfilled as best he could. And so, Darth Vader closes his eyes one last time. Then, the slave boy from Tatooine who the Jedi feared to train and the Sith plotted to sway becomes one with the Force. 

His stunned, confused, and bereft son hangs his head and cries. A proper Jedi would never do that. They would repress their grief and soldier on. But this is Luke Skywalker and he doesn’t know it yet, but he has a strong streak of emotional Darkness within him that he will never fully suppress. It will be many years before this son will come to understand his father’s views on the Force. Until then, he will continue to strive to be the perfect Jedi knight. It is in large part a mission to overcome the long shadow of his famous father’s legacy. Because it is not an easy thing to be the son of the most hated man in the galaxy.

Enduring men are always elusive and Darth Vader is no exception. He is a very public figure who turns out to be an exceedingly private man whose ultimate motivations are confounding. Historians will debate his merits and meaning for years to come. In death, as in life, he is a polarizing figure. But mostly, the galaxy comes to accept the version of Lord Vader as explained by his Rebel son who was there at the end. 

The story that prevails is one version of the truth, but it’s not the truth. Or rather, not the whole truth. That’s because the generation gap between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker is enormous and insurmountable. The gulf is age, it’s politics, it’s perspective, and it’s religion. Try as they might, father and son never understand one another. That disconnect is no more evident than in Sheev Palpatine’s throne room. 

Luke Skywalker sees what he wants to see in the moment that his father hurls Darth Sidious into the Death Star reactor core. It’s a version that fits Luke’s preferred narrative, with his longtime sinner father redeeming himself with a sudden lurch to the Light. It’s a selfless sacrifice in keeping with the Jedi tradition that proves the fallen knight-turned-Sith-Lord flipped good in the end. For buried deep beneath that black armor and scary mask, a small spark of humanity still burned. And given the right opportunity, it kindled into a blazing flame of Light just when his son and the galaxy needed it most.

With that version, Luke Skywalker claims the moral high ground and clings to it. It’s not a ploy to portray himself as the hero. Rather, it’s the definitive proof to declare his ideology supreme. For if the evil Darth Vader can be coaxed back to the good side, then none of us is beyond redemption. Luke and his sister firmly believe that the example of their father’s transformation is exactly what will eventually occur in the rest of the galaxy. That all others who embrace the ethos of the Empire will, in time, see the error of their ways when presented with the New Republic alternative.

The morality tale of the Death Star throne room becomes an enduring legend. It’s the fable of an idealistic young man who refused to fight his own family. Instead, he surrendered to sacrifice his life for his cause, throwing down his weapon at the crucial moment. His efforts inspired his fearsome father to make the sacrifice in his place, saving the son and saving the galaxy from the clutches of the evil tyrant Emperor. It’s a lovely message of hope and reconciliation, of forgiveness and atonement, and of love that inspires goodness.

Too bad it’s wrong. 

Some detractors know it. They say Darth Vader was a Sith of the old school. He lived for power and lusted for supremacy. Tired of decades running another man’s Empire, he plotted to take it for himself. So when Lord Vader saw an opportunity to kill his Master Lord Sidious, he took it. But, unfortunately, he killed himself in the process. In this version of events, chucking the old Emperor into the chasm was a selfish power grab and not a moment of selfless martyrdom. It was the Apprentice supplanting the Master in the time honored Sith tradition of kill and replace. The fateful decision was act of Darkness, they contend, and not of Light. 

They’re wrong too.

Only a handful of people perceive what really happened. They know that Darth Vader saved his son for complex reasons. First and foremost, because Luke was his kin. Family meant far more to Lord Vader than anyone fully realized. The fear of loss had been ingrained deeply in his psyche at age ten. Later, when presented with the prospect of loss as an adult, he chose the Dark Side to avoid it. It didn’t work. And so, this time around, Vader chose the Light.

But it was not a moment of manifesto or a declaration of allegiance. It was Vader being Vader. For always, he switched sides. He lived his life vacillating between Light and Dark, the very embodiment of the Force itself. His conflicted soul was balance incarnate, although few could see it, even himself. For the binary thinking of the Jedi and the Sith was too seductive. Those orthodoxies were too well engrained. But there are never just two choices. As Lord Vader had suspected all along, that mindset is a lie to keep you from thinking too much. It’s a trap to limit you.

The Jedi preached the purest Light to exert control for fear of unbridled power. They sought to subjugate Force users to serve only the collective good. Because without the limitations of the Jedi dogma, a knight might wander astray like Anakin Skywalker did. The Sith, in turn, urged Dark hedonism as a path to advancement. Their goal was the triumph of the individual. They encouraged ambition at all cost. Because compassion was a weakness the vengeful Sith could not afford. Each tradition was extreme in their own ways. And the Sith Lord Darth Vader, the erstwhile Jedi Anakin Skywalker, knew it firsthand.

So why did Vader kill his Master? Because he was the Chosen One destined to balance the Force. First, he killed all the Jedi. Then, he killed both Sith, including himself. Because Darth Vader was the Sith’ari, the ultimate Sith overlord who would destroy the Sith tradition in order to improve it. Through him, with him, and in him, the Force was remade. Or so, he hoped. But it also didn’t hurt that Lord Vader blamed the Emperor for the death of his first wife. There was as much revenge as there was justice in the assassination of Lord Sidious.

Why did Vader save his son? Was it paternal love for the estranged Rebel he couldn’t get along with? Was it penance in honor of his late wife, the boy’s mother? Or was it to ensure that the Rebellion had someone left who could take out the latest Death Star? Those in the know suspect it was all of the above. For they perceive that Lord Vader all along tried to do the right thing. He was never the evil, controlling fascist he was portrayed as. In fact, he believed strongly that he was a moral man, whatever that means. For Lord Vader, it was a constantly shifting concept, not a set of absolutes.

Luke Skywalker tells everyone that he’s sure Darth Vader turned to the good side because later he saw his dead father in the Force among his Jedi brethren. Was that hallucination just wishful thinking? Maybe an outright lie? The best answer is that it was a moment of self-delusion after a traumatic series of events. Unfortunately, Luke Skywalker continues to delude himself about the Force for many years thereafter until he finally confronts the truth. But first, he will come a hair’s breadth from murdering his nephew who, like each and every Skywalker, is as Dark as he is Light. Luke Skywalker will see his father in his nephew when, in fact, he should see himself. 

One more chapter to come


	38. chapter 38

Astral knows better than to believe fake news, whether it comes from official Imperial sources or the Alliance. But when the holonet crashes from unconfirmed reports of a Rebel attack on a secret super weapon that results in the deaths of both the Emperor and Darth Vader, she gets worried.

No one at the castle knows anything. Insider Vanee is suddenly unreachable, as is Milo. No one on Lord Vader’s staff answers their comlink either. Even the local commander for the Mustafar shield gate is in the dark. That turns out to be the most telltale sign that the rigid military chain of command has fallen apart. For what remains of the Imperial high command is busy jockeying for power, not managing the media reports. Alarmed Astral astutely perceives that the longer it takes for official Imperial sources to deny the rumors, the more credence the stories have. 

As the hours tick by into days, more sketchy details emerge. There are eye witness accounts on both sides describing a massive climactic battle in a system called Endor. But no one can affirm the Rebels’ claim to victory or their news about the Emperor and Lord Vader. Still, persistent, insidious whispers that Lord Vader killed the Emperor only to die himself make their way into published reports. Astral doesn’t know who to believe, but she’s starting to fear the worst. The Rebel version of events is suspiciously like her husband’s plan to team up with his son to destroy the Death Star and Sheev. That makes the reports uncomfortably believable. But still . . . Astral clings to hope.

Finally, four days later, Vanee arrives at the castle. Watching his face as he descends the shuttle ramp, Astral knows her worst fears have come true. Still, she flies to his side on the scorching hot Mustafar landing pad as the rest of the staff peeks from inside to spy on their reunion.

“Where is Lord Vader? Is he safe? Is he alright?” All the stress of the past few days is heard in her choked voice.

Vanee looks very tired and especially old as he reaches for her hand. He squeezes it. “I’m sorry, Astral.”

“No!” She refuses to accept the news. “No! No! This is not how this ends!” Astral instantly rages, raising a trembling hand to her forehead. She’s indignant that all their efforts have come to this unhappy result. “I saw what they’re claiming . . . I know they say he’s dead . . . but he can’t be—” Vulnerable though he is, her husband nevertheless has the constitution of a rancor and a superhuman pain tolerance. He can survive anything so long as he can breathe.

“I’m very sorry,” Vanee soothes in a quiet voice.

“So the holonet reports--??"

“It’s true. All of it. The Rebels blew up the second Death Star. But first, Luke Skywalker confronted the Emperor.”

“And Lord Vader? Did Luke kill him too? Did he kill his own father?” she wonders aloud in horror. This is one of many scenarios that has kept her up at night.

“The Jedi says no. He says Lord Vader died fighting Lord Sidious.”

Yes, she knows the story the Rebels are touting. It’s why she has clung to the hope that it’s a lie. Astral starts sputtering now as she processes the news. “He knew better than to fight Sheev--he served him over twenty years because he knew he couldn’t win--he knew it was suicide. Why would he do it now?” she wails. Lord Vader said he would never let the Emperor get him and Luke in the same room together. He knew what would happen. “Why? Why??” she cries.

Vanee supplies the answers she knows are true. “To save the galaxy from Sheev and his Death Star. And to save his son from becoming the Apprentice.”

Darth Vader survived over twenty years against all odds. Refusing to succumb to pain and infirmities. Rejecting death and hopelessness. Why? Because he was a stubborn man who wouldn’t give his Master or his enemies the satisfaction. He always soldiered on. That’s what Darth Vader did. But apparently, he finally found a good reason to die. And Astral can’t fault him for it. Bereft though she is, she both understands and respects the sacrifice. She herself risked death as a treasonous conspirator to ensure that there would be no more Alderaans.

Vanee has tears in his eyes as again he says what soon everyone will tell her. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Then, Lord Vader’s longtime manservant pulls her into a long hug.

When Astral regains her composure, they go inside. She stands beside Vanee with silent tears leaking down her cheeks, looking on as he delivers the bad news to the castle staff. One and all, they are Imperial loyalists who are dismayed at the turn of events. No one ever believed that Mon Mothma’s Alliance to Restore the Galactic Republic would succeed in its revolution.

In one battle, the course of history shifts. In one day, the fortunes of so many change. Like with every conflict, there are winners and losers. But not everyone is celebrating the regime’s demise by partying in the streets. Many average citizens are fearful of what will come next. Every adult alive over thirty-five standard years recalls the chaos at the end of the Clone Wars. No one wants another civil war, but now that looks inevitable. For the Emperor and his chief henchman might be dead, but the Imperial bureaucracy and its giant war machine live on. There are Moffs and Admirals and Generals all vowing to continue the fight. As the Rebels proclaim victory and make a show of taking over Coruscant, the sizeable Imperial remnants regroup and insist it’s not over yet.

In those first few days, Astral like everyone else is glued to the holonet. But while she wants to learn the news, it’s hard to see the gleeful haters castigating Darth Vader. Her husband is vilified more in death now than he ever was in life. Astral is not blind to her husband’s misdeeds, but even she is taken aback by the vehemence of the condemnation. The holonet commentators don’t know that many of Lord Vader’s actions were not of his own accord—that he was following orders. And yes, plenty of his decisions were of his own volition. Still, to call Darth Vader complicit is only partly true, for in other ways he was a victim. It’s . . . complicated, Astral knows. Too complicated for sound bites to adequately convey. But on some level, it is extremely ironic and terribly frustrating that after Endor Darth Vader quickly becomes an enduring symbol of the fast fading Imperial era.

He’s the arch villain now for many people, or the strongman fascist hero if you ascribe to the Imperialist view. But either version of her husband paints an incomplete depiction of who he really was. For few aside from Astral know that beneath the expressionless mask lived a man full of emotions. And not just hate and rage, but understanding and compassion. Even love. And neither side would believe that Lord Vader’s mindset was far more pragmatic than it was dogmatic. Darth Vader might be a symbol of Imperial authority, but he was surprisingly flexible in his private personal politics. He was interested more in results than process. That’s what made him so impatient with democracy. But that didn’t mean he had no limits and the ends would always justify his means. Lord Vader knew when to stop, unlike his cruel Master. He drew the line at things like Death Stars, and he died for those scruples.

Astral has no interest in any of the vicious political posturing afoot. She was never in this for any particular ideology. Her cause was her husband and her family and a desire to prevent more tragedies like Alderaan. With that in mind, Astral decides to return to private life on Coruscant. There’s no reason to remain on Mustafar. The castle is full of memories that both comfort and torment her. Plus, she wants to hear from her stepson what really happened. Luke Skywalker owes her an explanation.

Vanee tries to talk her out of it. He pleads at length for her to remain. But Astral will not relent. She gathers her things and takes with her Lord Vader’s Jedi lightsaber that he sent home with her from the _Executor._ It’s Luke’s sword again now, she decides. Astral plans to give it to him. It’s no use sitting in the vault here on Mustafar with the rest of her husband’s collection of Jedi relics.

It helps that Astral is no stranger to loss. Thanks to Alderaan, she is now an expert at grief. She’s become accustomed to blinking back sudden tears and swallowing sobs that emerge at awkward times. From long practice, Astral knows how to put on a brave face. She learned it at Lord Vader’s castle where pity was discouraged and tears were a private indulgence. That experience serves her well now. Back at home in her Coruscant apartment, Astral dons the elaborate black cape and dress she wore to meet the Rebel leaders. She paints on a full face of makeup and coils her hair into an intimidating severe chignon. The look is appropriately grave and formal for her first destination. And hopefully, it will be suitably impressive to brazen her way into her second appointment.

Her first task is a condolence call. Vanee had reluctantly provided the Coruscant address of Lady Sidious. It turns out to be an office building from which the unofficial Empress runs the day-to-day operations of her sprawling enterprise of vice. She’s basically a madam, Vanee sniffs as he provides the information. Watch yourself. She’s no better than a Hutt, he warns.

Maybe so, Astral concedes, but she’s going nonetheless. Darth Sidious’ wife had once tried to warn her away from the Sith even as she offered to help. It had been an awkward, unwelcome chance meeting between two very different women. But Astral wants to honor Lady Sidious’ gesture. She suspects that Cresta Cole is the one woman in the galaxy who can understand how Astral feels right now. For she too has lost a secret husband who she can neither publicly acknowledge nor openly mourn. Besides, if the experience of loving Lord Vader has taught Astral anything, it’s that people are not always what they seem. Cresta Cole might be no better than a Hutt, but then again, she might.

There are conspicuously armed guards at the sleek workplace Astral enters. Not the official uniformed Palace types, but guns-for-hire. This must be what it’s like to visit the Pikes on Kessel, Astral thinks, as once more she is scanned for weapons and grilled for her intentions. Finally, she is ushered into a private office. Petite Lady Sidious stands inside dwarfed behind a large desk. She’s sporting the same sexy clothes, garish red hair, and purple fingernails that Astral remembers. And actually, this aging Sith femme fetale is sort of endearing with her aggressive wardrobe that matches her big personality.

“I hope that I am welcome,” Astral begins gravely. The circumstances are awkward for both of them.

Her hostess nods slowly. For once, Lady Sidious acts the part of unofficial Empress. She addresses the two thugs who flank the door, ordering curtly, “Leave us.” Then, she waves Astral into one of two empty chairs opposite her. 

Astral seats herself. Nervously, she arranges her skirts as she sits up straight. 

Her counterpart plops down into her own chair, tucking her stilettoed feet beneath her. Lady Sidious props her chin up on one hand. Her face relaxes to reveal a wan expression. She’s not even attempting to present a stiff upper lip. And actually, that puts Astral more at ease. 

“I am very sorry for your loss,” Astral begins formally. 

Cresta looks up. “You mean, you’re sorry I’m sad, but you’re not sorry Sheev’s dead.” Like Astral remembers, this woman is very blunt. She continues, “I was there when he threatened you, remember?”

Astral punts by responding neutrally, “I understand your grief.”

“Yes . . . you and I are no strangers to grief,” the Empress refers obliquely to their shared affiliation to Alderaan. “I guess this is the point when I say that I’m sorry for your loss. And really, I am. I always liked the kid. I felt sorry for him. Not that I’m glad he killed my Sheev, mind you . . . “

“I understand.”

Lady Sidious sighs heavily and sits back in her chair. She looks away and mutters, “I knew this day would come again . . . ”

_Again?_ Astral gulps. She feels compelled to prod, “A-Again?”

“He has died before and lived. It was the night he killed his Master. He had just been elected Chancellor. Sheev celebrated by killing Darth Plagueis.”

“Oh.” Ooooohh. Astral is all ears now. 

Luckily, Lady Sidious is in a reflective mood to talk. “That Muun ruined our family and he was going to keep Sheev the forever Apprentice. He would be immortal and Sheev would remain number two until eventually the Muun traded up to Vader. That’s how it works, you know.” Lady Sidious slants sharp eyes her direction. “You’re only the Apprentice until someone better comes along to replace you.”

Astral nods. Yes, she knows. Someone like Luke Skywalker. 

“Sheev was patient. He waited until he had the maximum leverage and the big position before he struck. They killed each other that night. Sheev hacked his Master’s head in two but he fell as well. Milo was there to find them both pretty much dead. In those days, Milo was Plagueis’ servant. But he serves the Sith first and foremost—the institution, not the men,” she explains. “And so, when he saw them both dead, he panicked. Milo feared the Sith had ended.”

That was Lord Vader’s goal, Astral recalls. She says nothing as she waits for Lady Sidious to continue her tale.

“Milo took three guards to dying Sheev and told him to drain their Force to rejuvenate himself. It kept Sheev alive in time for the medics, but just barely. Then Milo took care of the Muun’s body and covered up the deaths of his wife and son. Made it look like a break-in and a burglary. It’s how Milo earned Sheev’s trust.” Lady Sidious makes a face but admits begrudgingly, “I have never liked the guy, but he did save Sheev’s life.”

“And you think the Emperor may have lived this time too?” Astral struggles to square what she’s hearing with the Rebellion’s version of events. 

“Oh, yes.” Cresta Cole looks very certain.

Frowning Astral tentatively ventures, “But Luke Skywalker says my husband threw your husband down a reactor shaft in the Death Star. Then, it e-exploded. I’m sorry, but there’s no way the Emperor survived.”

Lady Sidious lifts her chin indignantly. “That’s what everyone thinks, but my credits are on my Sheev.”

“You really think he lived?” Astral whispers. She’s horrified by the implications. 

“I know he lived,” Lady Sidious is definite. “After he died that first time, Sheev became obsessed with immortality. He got very good at his Dark tricks. If anyone could survive that fall, my Sheev could. If it’s even true, that is.” Cresta pins skeptical eyes on Astral. “That Jedi Rebel has a vested interest in claiming that Ani killed Sheev. It gets the blame off him.”

“But Skywalker says Lord Vader killed Lord Sidious to save him. Because he was Vader’s son.”

Lady Sidious shrugs. “I guess it’s possible. But Vader wasn't the sentimental type. He killed lots of his Jedi friends. Even Jedi kids. I’m not sure why he would treat his own kid any differently. Vader wasn’t known for his mercy.”

“So you really think the Emperor is still alive . . . ”

“Yes.” Lady Sidious leans forward now as she brags, “Sheev is the Sith’ari.”

“The whaat? I beg your pardon?” Astral plays dumb, but she knows exactly what the title means. 

“It’s a Sith legend about the Sith Lord who destroys the Sith to make them stronger. My Sheev did that. He destroyed himself and killed his Master. But he lived to found the second Sith Empire. And now, he will live forever.” 

“I see,” Astral whispers.

The unofficial Empress nods encouragingly. “He’ll turn up. Just you wait. You’ll see. Sheev will be back and he will get his revenge on the Skywalkers.”

“Oh.”

“Not you. Don’t worry, you’re fine. But Luke Skywalker is a dead man.”

“How are you so certain?” quaking Astral asks. Could this all be the ravings of a grieving widow in deep denial? Or is this the truth of a very wily Dark Master who cannot be felled even by extraordinary means?

Lady Sidious’ answer is matter of fact. “How do I know? Because evil never dies. Darkness is forever. It’s in all our nature. Even in regular people like you and me. Shit, it’s my business model. I sell sex, booze, and spice to lonely, troubled people looking to escape from their miserable lives. Astral—I can call you Astral, right? Astral, I sell sin. It’s betrayal and self-destruction and corruption peddled at a very high price. Trust me, there is no shortage of customers. Let this Jedi tell the galaxy he’s won. Eventually, he’ll figure it out. He hasn’t won anything. You can’t win against the Sith.”

That’s what Astral is afraid of. The longer this interview goes on, the more she worries that her husband’s sacrifice did not achieve his goals. “You can’t win against the Sith,” Astral echoes the words weakly as she feels a shiver down her back.

Oblivious Lady Sidious nods along. “Vader knew that. He stopped fighting them and joined them. Because the only way to beat them is to be them and to balance the Force. It was the only thing my Sheev was afraid of. That Vader would fulfill his destiny and balance the Force. That the Chosen One would trump the Sith’ari in the end. But that won’t happen now. Er . . . sorry for speaking plainly. But you should know I never sugarcoat about business.”

“Yes, of course.” Astral doubts this woman has the ability to speak with tact. But Astral appreciates her candor for what it is revealing today. “You once offered to help me—“

“Do you need help now?” 

“I will be fine.”

“Are you sure? Because Milo has all the account numbers and he’ll set you up for life. The Sith are rich and they always take care of their own.“

“Thank you. That’s not necessary.”

“Are you sure?” Lady Sidious prods. “Don’t be proud. I’m not. I’ve been poor and desperate. I don’t recommend it,” she warns.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then. Good luck.”

Astral now stands to take her leave. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Her hostess stands to shake her hand. “Thank you for coming.” Lady Sidious seems very sincere as she offers parting words, “I always liked the kid. Sheev said he was great at his job. My husband would never have been able to study the Force so much if he had to run the galaxy.”

Astral nods and bites her lip. Then she leaves as fast as she can. 

Next, Astral gathers her courage and sweeps regally into the Imperial Palace that now serves as the makeshift headquarters for the nascent New Republic. She walks in like she owns the place. Because, in an alternate reality, she might have. But Astral never harbored dreams of being an Empress and she’s not sorry for the lost opportunity. She’s here to deliver the lightsaber and a message. And, hopefully, to get some answers.

The security guards stop her. She informs them coolly, “I am Astral Sidhu. I’m here to see Luke Skywalker.”

They don’t know what to say. No one knows how to perceive this expensively dressed grand dame whose steely expression is at odds with her red rimmed eyes. So, they call their supervisor.

“Who are you again?”

“I’m Astral Sidhu.”

"Never heard of you."

“I am here to see Luke Skywalker. But if he is unavailable, then I will see Leia Organa.”

The supervisor now calls his supervisor. Up the chain of command the Rebels continue, giving repeated refusals. But Astral politely resists. She might not have been there on the Death Star, but she is far from a bystander to this conflict. She will see this matter through. Plus, Luke Skywalker owes her an explanation.

Finally, she is shown into a conference room where a somewhat scruffy looking young man awaits. He’s introduced as a Rebel general although his lack of uniform and drawling speech don’t suggest it. He looks more like a gunslinger from the Rim with that blaster conspicuously strapped to one leg. He’s the furthest thing from the spit-and-polish Imperial officers Astral is familiar with. The man looks her over thoughtfully and crosses his arms. “You’re a real pushy broad,” is his opening line.

“I wish to see Luke Skywalker.”

“Luke’s not here. But anything you can tell him, you can tell me,” the general offers.

“Then, I will see Leia Organa,” Astral counters.

“She’s busy.”

“I can wait.”

“No, you can’t,” the man replies firmly. “Tell me what you want to say and be on your way. As you can imagine, we’re sort of busy,” he deadpans.

“Very well.” Astral produces Lord Vader’s Jedi lightsaber from her cloak and lays it on the table. These days, lightsabers are such a rare, near mythical weapon that the young Rebel guards had not recognized it.

But the general does. His jaw drops. His eyes narrow. “Where did you get that?”

“From the man who owned it.”

“It belongs to Luke Skywalker.”

“This lightsaber was Luke’s, but it was his father’s before him.”

The general’s lips tighten into a firm line as he eyes Astral. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I got it from Luke’s father. Take it. Give it to Luke. Lord Vader would want him to have it.”

“Not likely,” the general snaps. “Vader cut his hand off with it.”

Astral nods to concede the truth. “He was very sorry for that. More sorry than you can know that Bespin went so badly.” That first meeting between father and son set a tone of violence and distrust that they were never able to get past. It had far reaching consequences.

“What do you know about Bespin?”

“More than you, I think,” Astral answers.

The Rebel general bristles. “Who are you again exactly?”

“Astral Sidhu.”

“You’re her, aren’t you? Lord Vader’s lady? I’ve heard about you.” Apparently, Astral’s reputation proceeds her.

She lifts her chin and summons her dignity. “Yes. I am—I was—wife to Darth Vader. I am Luke’s stepmother.”

“You’re the one who pitched the Death Star attack to Leia and Draven?”

“Yes.”

The young general smirks. “Thanks for the info and the cash. We made good use of them.”

“I’m glad the weapon is gone,” Astral responds as diplomatically as possible. The destruction of the second Death Star is the one bright spot in the Battle of Endor.

“Yeah, er . . . sorry about your old man.”

Astral does not respond to this insincerity. She just freezes the cocky general with her eyes.

To his credit, he reddens. Then, a thought occurs to him. “So if you’re Vader’s wife, then you knew when you met with Leia, didn’t you?”

“Knew what?”

“Listen, Lady, don’t be coy. You knew who Leia was to your husband and Luke—“

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think that was relevant to say when you met her??”

“It was not my secret to tell. Besides, she didn’t believe anything I said that day. She would never have believed me.” Astral looks down, frowning at the awkwardness of the situation. “Please tell the Princess that Lord Vader was sorry for his transgressions against her.”

“Like Alderaan, you mean?”

“No. That was Tarkin’s call. Lord Vader was not responsible for Alderaan,” Astral argues staunchly. But she’s not here to debate history. Astral moves on. “Please tell the Princess that Lord Vader was sorry for the interrogation. He would not have done that had he been aware of the situation at the time.”

“Because Vader was such a nice guy?” the general observes dryly.

Astral snaps back, “No. Because Lord Vader prized his family. Luke and the Princess were stolen from him. He wanted them back.”

“Yeah, right. He wanted to kill them.”

“I understand why you feel the way you do,” Astral acknowledges his cynicism, “but Lord Vader was more than the person you saw portrayed on the holonet.”

“Look, Lady, your sainted husband had me tortured, encased in carbonite, and sold to Jabba the Hutt! So spare me the sob story on Vader.”

Wait—“You’re the smuggler who loves the Princess?” Astral blinks.

The general shifts his weight a little sheepishly, but admits, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

“I see.”

“What’s the matter?” The man turns belligerent. “Did he think I’m not good enough for his daughter?? Well, he’s dead now, so it doesn’t matter. Vader can rest in peace in Force Hell for all I care.”

Astral sighs and looks away. “I don’t think you can understand this, but his Hell was here in life. He suffered more than you can possibly imagine.”

The general is unimpressed by her sentiment. “Look, no one around here is crying tears over Darth Vader—”

“Give Luke the saber please,” Astral overrides him. She’s in no mood to hear her dead husband disrespected. Her loss is too new and too raw. “This, as well.” Astral now places a datafile on the table next to the weapon. “These are coordinates to Lord Vader’s castle on Mustafar. The castle contains a vault with a great deal of information about the Force The caretaker Vanee will show Luke where it is.”

“Yeah, sure. Alright.” The general nods.

“There’s one more thing, but I need to speak to Luke about it personally.”

The smuggler turned general shakes his head. “Anything you want to say to Luke or Leia, you can say to me now.”

Astral looks the man over for a long moment before she concedes, “Very well.” This might be her only chance to divulge this information, given the stonewalling she has encountered today. Astral very much doubts that she will get another audience here at the Rebel headquarters. So, with a deep breath, she reveals, “I have reason to believe that the Emperor may not be dead.”

The general smirks at her. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. It’s too important to joke about this.” She meets the younger man’s eyes. “The future of the galaxy depends on it.”

“Luke saw him die.”

“Maybe so, but he may not be dead.” Astral knows that she sounds ridiculous, but she feels compelled to reveal what Lady Sidious said.

“Care to explain that?”

How does she explain what she herself doesn’t really understand? Astral takes refuge in the language her husband would have used. “The Dark Side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.”

“Spit it out, Lady.” The skeptical general is impatient.

“Emperor Palpatine might be immortal.”

“He’s dead. End of story.” But the general’s face soon betrays some doubt as he demands, “Care to share why you think he’s alive?”

“I just know that there are some on the inside who believe he’s alive . . . through the Force.” Remembering her own attack by the Rebels, Astral refuses to give any details about Lady Sidious. It might make her a target for reprisals.

“Huh,” the general grunts. “Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”

“I would still like to speak to Luke and Leia,” Astral again persists.

“Leia’s not going to see you now or ever. Don’t come around here again. She doesn’t want anyone to know the truth of her father.”

That’s understandable, Astral thinks. “It’s very fresh news, I know—“

“It’s a secret and it will remain a secret. Look, Leia’s going places in the New Republic and she won’t let dear old dad ruin it for her. Luke might acknowledge the relationship to Vader, but she will not.”

“I see.” Astral gulps. She’s glad her husband isn’t alive to hear this rejection, even if it’s secondhand.

“If you go to the media to discredit her, there will be consequences,” the general warns.

“I understand.” Astral won’t press the point. “Tell her . . . tell her I wish things were different. If she changes her mind—“

“She won’t. Bail Organa is her real father. Not Darth Vader.”

That basically ends the conversation. Astral is frustrated that this final attempt to reach out to her husband’s children, like all her past attempts, has made no headway. And she worries that her warning about Lord Sidious will go unheeded. But she’s done her part. There’s one more thing she wants to know. “Do you know where my husband’s body is?” she asks in a small, choked voice. “W-Was he on the D-Death Star when it blew?”

The general shakes his head. “Luke took him back to Endor and cremated him.”

Astral blinks. Surely, she heard that wrong. She stares at the young man opposite her in disbelief. “He burned him?” she whispers. He burned a man in death who burned alive? It’s the most insensitive thing Astral conceive of for a burial. She falls to pieces over it. “HE BURNED DARTH VADER??” she screeches indignantly. Instantly, hot tears flood her eyes.

The general looks uncomfortable at her visceral reaction. He mumbles, “Luke said that is the traditional Jedi burial ritual. Er . . . I don’t think it was intended as disrespect. I believe he built a bonfire--”

“HE WAS NOT A JEDI!” Astral hisses. Darth Vader was never going to be a Jedi again, despite his son’s attempts to convince him and recent public testimonials. Whatever happened on the Death Star, Astral is very certain that her husband didn’t revert to his old religion. He wanted to move forward. To let the past die and to build something new. Darth Vader was the visionary the Force needed, but his son refused to see it.

“You tell L-Luke,” Astral stammers, waving a trembling finger at the general, “you tell L-Luke that he’s not half the man his father w-was! That he will never be as powerful as Darth Vader! Not if he sticks to his Jedi ways and denies the Dark Side!” All her frustration and grief about how things have turned out bubbles over and spills out. Lady Vader is heartbroken, disappointed, and so, so frustrated. “When Darth Sidious returns, he will come for Luke and his family. He will take his revenge on the Skywalkers and we will all suffer for it!” she predicts. “The only way to win—the only solution that is permanent—is to balance the Force.”

“I think you had better leave,” the general informs her curtly.

“Luke knows where to find me if he has the courage to face me. It’s where you Rebels sent your goons to attack me,” Astral glares.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She snaps back. “I didn’t think so.”

Astral leaves knowing that her uncharacteristic outburst at the end ruined everything. For in this latest overture, as in everything leading up to this point, Astral cannot make any headway. Well, the Rebels have won, she decides. These are their problems now, not hers. She’s done with attempting to influence the course of galactic events. She will return to being a private citizen and retreat into her world of art.

As it turns out, Luke never approaches her. He does ultimately get the lightsaber and the warning about the Emperor, however. Just not the coordinates to Lord Vader’s castle. General Solo hands the datafile with the location to a subordinate and tells him to check it out.

The subordinate takes a squad of X-wings with him that easily overwhelm the now poorly defended Mustafar shield gate. Then, the fighters begin an aerial bombardment of Lord Vader’s castle. It’s not much of a siege, for the small onsite garrison has redeployed to combat elsewhere. By the time the Rebel troop carrier lands with infantrymen, the place is a smoking ruin. Its remaining defenders are few. The cook, a maid, and a few techs. These non-combatants form a small army behind their unarmed leader who walks forward to greet the invaders with maximum dignity. 

It’s Vanee. 

The lead Rebel surveys the old man wearing the trademark flowing black robes of the Sith. “Step aside,” he orders. 

But Vanee will not be dismissed. “What have you come for?”

“We’ve come to trash Lord Vader’s home.”

“You have done that.”

“We’re not through.”

“Leave this place,” Vanee replies as all the Rebels take aim at him. If he’s intimidated by the threat, it doesn’t show. “You are not welcome here,” the old retainer informs the enemy troops. “Luke Skywalker may come claim his inheritance, but no other Rebel will set foot inside Lord Vader’s home.”

“We’ll see about that, old man.” 

The lead Rebel puts a blaster shot into Vanee’s right leg and his troops gun down the staff members behind him. Then, the Rebels proceed to loot the castle. One man carries off a spare cape, another finds an extra mask. Still others score trophies like artwork and equipment. But as they leave, the still alive but struggling Vanee lifts his head from the hot pavement and smiles. For he knows that the true treasure of Mustafar Castle is safe inside the vault. 

Not half an hour after the invaders have left, another ship touches down. It too has armed men inside, but they are friends and not foes. And at their forefront is another man in flowing black robes. 

Vanee lifts his head again. “M-Master . . . " he softly croaks.

Concerned Darth Plagueis immediately sinks to a crouch beside the wounded servant. “Hold still, my old friend.” He waves a hand before the prone man’s eyes. “Better?”

Vanee blinks. “Better. Thank you, Master. I feel no pain now.”

“Good.” Lord Plagueis slowly stands to look around. He decides, “You’re the only one left alive.”

“The vault is safe.”

“Excellent. We will be taking its contents with us. Now, let’s get you onboard. You need more than my Force medicine.”

“Did you see him, Master?” Vanee gasps as he is helped to his feet.

“Yes, I have seen Skywalker,” Darth Plagueis sighs heavily.

“Will he join you?” 

“No. He is headstrong and foolish. Committed to ideals that were outdated when he was born. Kenobi has set him on a quest to bring back the glory days of the Jedi Order.”

“Oh, no.” Weak Vanee now stumbles and nearly slips back to the ground. “After all this time . . . all is lost . . .” 

“We shall see, Vanee, we shall see . . . “ The reformed Dark Master puts a supporting arm around the wounded servant. “I will give Skywalker and his sister a chance to do things their way. I will not interfere with the will of the Force. Let us see how this unfolds.”

“But will it work?” Vanee worries as he slowly limps with assistance towards the ship. 

“They are born of the Chosen One,” Darth Plagueis reminds him. “The Force works through them.”

“And Sheev?“

“He’s on Exogol.”

“In a tomb, I hope,” Vanee grumbles.

“Alas, not,” Darth Plagueis shakes his head. “He lives, but barely. He will be sidelined for a bit. But he will persist thanks to his clones.”

Vanee groans. “So, he is immortal now?”

“In a fashion. But not like I am. He can still be killed.”

“Go kill him, Master,” old Vanee hisses out his bloodlust. “Finish him off. Why does the Force allow him to live?”

Darth Plagueis explains, “It is the same rough balance the universe has always tilted on. Skywalker will rebuild the Jedi, so a Sith must exist. Powerful Darkness rises to equal powerful Light.”

“But there’s you, my Lord—"

“I am in the middle now. Neither Light nor Dark.”

“Are you sure you can’t balance the Force yourself, Master?” the injured man complains.

“Vanee, you know better than to ask that.”

“But Master—“

“I have the wisdom but not the merit. This is why the Force gives me immortality. It is both penance and promise. My lot in life is to endure and to hope.” Lord Plagueis’ ruined face is flummoxed. “Ironic, is it not? I’m a Dark Master and yet consigned to live in the Light.”

“It’s balance, Master.”

“Just so. Milo is on board. He stole back everything Sheev stole from me.”

“And more, I hope,” Vanee grumbles. “What do we do now?”

“First, we heal you. Then, we watch and we wait.”

“More exile?”

“Let us see if the Force is with young Skywalker and his sister. Perhaps their new Republic will strike a middle ground.”

“He’s a zealot.”

“For now. But we must have faith that the Force will find a way. We will be ready to do its bidding when the time comes,” the Muun Master intones piously.

Vanee is skeptical. “He’s a zealot.”

“Take heart, my faithful friend,” the Sith who isn’t a Sith encourages. “The story of the Skywalkers is not over yet.“

While Darth Plagueis retreats into quiet exile, circumstances conspire to erase the little-known Lady Vader from history. With the Emperor and his Apprentice gone, Vanee and Milo return to serve their true Master all along, Darth Plagueis. They certainly aren’t talking to the media. And while there are those on Lord Vader’s staff and ship who know of Astral’s existence, all aboard the _Executor_ die when it crashes into the second Death Star. Moff Jerjorrod dies at his post on his beloved superweapon, along with the Death Star construction team. Most of the staff of Lord Vader’s Coruscant palace either join the Imperial remnants or melt into anonymity as civilians. That just leaves Lady Sidious, Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, and a few in the Rebel high command who know of Astral Sidhu. They all survive, but they don’t talk. They have more pressing matters to attend to, and Lady Vader is an afterthought. And so, Astral does indeed become a completely private citizen again, albeit a very wealthy one with a prestigious address and a hefty bank account in her name.

The elusive Darth Plagueis remains in exile biding his time. Astral keeps expecting him to re-emerge to end the destructive conflict that drags on for years between the leftover Imperial forces and the newly declared New Republic. But he never does. The disfigured Muun sticks to his resolve to let the Force sort things out.

For a time during the raging civil war, it looks like the Imperial loyalists will win. Fearing they fight for Lord Sidious, Astral presents herself as a volunteer New Republic pilot. Maybe that seems a strange choice. After all, she’s no Rebel and she was briefly wife to the Empire’s most famous warlord. But Astral is also keenly aware that in order for her husband’s sacrifice to have meaning, his children will have to triumph. Lord Vader gave his life so Sheev would be deposed, and grieving, depressed Astral wants to make sure it matters. So she signs up anonymously to fly in a New Republic combat squadron. Astral fights for Team Skywalker against the proponents of Lord Sidious, hoping that a military victory will keep the Emperor at bay for a few years at least.

Astral’s actually quite a good pilot—she was trained by the best in the galaxy, after all. But whether it is good training or her beloved Sith Lord watching over her in the Force, Astral survives all the way to the final battle over Jakku. Then she disappears back into academia again, content to read, write, and lecture about art. She cocoons herself in the high culture she loves so much and makes it her life’s work.

When the latest civil war ends, the Light prevails for a time, but undercurrents of Darkness stir and rise. And so, in due time, Astral lives to see another Republic fall. It is captained by the Skywalker twins who strive and suffer. They’re doing it wrong, Astral knows as she watches from afar. Seeking the wrong solutions that have failed many times before. But they are stubborn in their convictions, like their father before them.

Luke Skywalker will eventually get his comeuppance, but there is no joy in his lesson learned, only pain. The galaxy’s most famous Jedi retreats in shame to hide from everyone, including the Force. He knows now the wisdom his father learned and could not impart. Too late, Luke Skywalker realizes that he was wrong. The mistake costs him his father and ultimately his nephew too. And it costs the galaxy yet another civil war.

That conflict provokes Astral to emerge from her ivory tower in academia. By now, she is a white haired, slightly frail septuagenarian. But Professor Sidhu is as elegant as ever and mentally sharp. She quietly slips away from Coruscant one day to heed the call to arms from the princess who is her secret stepdaughter. For ever since the tragedy of Alderaan repeated itself a generation later on Hosnia, Astral has harbored Resistance leanings. She and many others—from all species and countless worlds—show up to put an end to Darth Sidious once and for all. 

They succeed, but the Skywalkers lose everything. By the end, when the dust settles, they are all gone. The self-exiled Luke Skywalker dies at Crait, his valiant General sister Leia Organa perishes soon afterwards, and the brilliant but unstable young scion Kylo Ren dies on Exogol. With his loss, the bloodline of the clan of the Chosen Ones dies. The Skywalkers are no more. Astral hopes they find the peace together in death that they never found in life.

At different times and in different ways, the Force was with each of them. But it was never enough. The demigod Chosen Ones were hamstrung by their very human frailties. The divine in them made the Skywalkers dream big and reach far, but the shortcomings inherent in their toxic family relationships and their penchant for extremes made them fall hard.

It all began long ago with a Force trick that Darth Plagueis initially believed went horribly wrong. But time would show that the Force sent him a new son to replace the biological offspring Master Yoda stripped of the Force and Lord Sidious later killed. The Force clearly wanted old Darth Plagueis to rear a new Apprentice so that he could pass on what he had learned. So it gave him Anakin Skywalker as a new hope for the galaxy. But alas, that promising young man did not work out like anyone hoped. Then, the grandson Luke Skywalker sadly refused the call to greatness. In the end, human folly robbed the galaxy of a chance for a new era. Mostly due to the doubts and fears of an orphan farmboy who tried to do what he felt was right to disastrous consequences. Free will is a thorny thing, as it turns out.

So where is the Skywalker patriarch creator, old Darth Plagueis? Well, he’s out there somewhere. Watching and waiting. Despite the name Supreme Leader Snoke and the near perfect resemblance, Astral never believes Lord Plagueis is the reclusive leader of the First Order. She’s certain that the man who used his nickname for a select few as a sign of endearment would never be known publicly by that moniker. The Lord Plagueis she knew cared far too much for appearances to make himself out as a figure of fun. Moreover, she’s certain that the debonair Muun with discerning taste would never, ever appear publicly in a golden sparkly bathrobe. Supreme Leader Snoke must be one of Lord Sidious’ clones, Astral theorizes, here to gaslight the galaxy and preemptively discredit the actual man if he ever shows up.

Where is Darth Plagueis? Does he remain in exile because he has learned his lesson not to push too hard? Is he truly content to let cosmic magic work to its own devices? Astral wonders from time to time.

She is an old woman now as she returns from Exogol to Coruscant. She has never remarried, never moved on. She doesn’t want to. She is happy to live out her days mired in memories and tormented by bittersweet ‘what ifs.’ She still goes to lectures, concerts, and the opera, but she’s slowing down lately. These days, she tends to spend most nights at home, seated on her couch reading. From that cozy spot every so often, she glances up to see the portrait of the embattled Jedi she loved. The painting was a gift from Lord Plagueis after Endor and it is her most prized possession. The General Anakin Skywalker in the painting looks nothing like the Sith Lord Darth Vader she married. But from almost the beginning, Astral could still see the vestiges of the young hopeful hero in the grizzled, scarred veteran. She could see the humanity buried deep beneath the black armor. And she accepted him as she found him, unlike his son who sought to change him.

Not long after Exogol and wholly unbeknownst to Astral, on a planet that is farthest from the bright center of the universe, an extraordinary event occurs at long last. An old woman approaches a young woman in the desert and asks her name.

“Rey . . . Rey Skywalker,” the young woman replies impulsively, after glancing over at the shimmering Force apparitions of her two dead mentors. This young woman is fresh from the fight, bereft and heartsick, but seeking peace. So, she smiles bravely.

The old woman smiles back. Then . . . she morphs into an old Muun with a ruined face.

“You!” the young woman abruptly shrieks. She lights a yellow saberstaff and hotly accuses, “You’re dead! I saw you die!”

“Oh, I’m not dead . . . not yet. Not ever, in fact.” The towering figure smiles affably down at her.

The young woman answers with a swing.

“Good. Gooood,” the old Muun approves of this aggression as the sword passes harmlessly through his Force projection. “So Light and yet so Dark.”

Rey is confused. “Whaaat?” Then, she grits her teeth and swings again with the same result.

The confounded woman warrior lowers her weapon and steps back. She’s wary now. “Who are you? You’re not Snoke.”

The man with the familiar gargoyle face is a stranger after all. He proudly announces, “I am Darth Plagueis the Wise, Apprentice to Tenebrous and Master to Sidious.”

“I killed Darth Sidious!” she hisses, brandishing her sword again.

The man who looks like Snoke but isn’t Snoke looks her over with relish. “Such strength, such power. You are a Skywalker, my dear.” He cocks his head to the side and flashes a wry smile. “In all my time, I have yet to take a female Apprentice. You will be the first—“

“Wrong! I’m a Palpatine. And I will kill you like I killed him!” The young woman abandons her sword. She raises a hand and summons the Force as she bares her teeth.

It does nothing against the patient, smiling alien in the black cloak.

“Wanting to kill your father definitely makes you a Skywalker,” he chuckles, “but Sheev Palpatine wasn’t your father. You’re not the child of his rejected imperfect clone or whatever lie he told you. No, my dear, you are something far more special than that. You are a child of the Force. Created by me when Sheev got his hands on the last of my Anakin’s bloodline. Welcome home, welcome home, Daughter,” the Muun exclaims to the bewildered, hostile girl. “Together, we will finish what Darth Vader started.”

Her response is as he anticipates. This isn’t Lord Plagueis’ first ‘I am your father’ moment. “I’ll never join you!” she hisses.

The Muun has heard that line before. He’s an old campaigner who knows a few things about a good lure. So he promises the grieving, abandoned scavenger girl what she craves most: “I can raise the dead. I can bring back the one you love. All things are possible in the Force.”

She blinks. The next knee-jerk rejection dies on her lips. She blinks again. The young woman is taken aback . . . and considering.

Seeing this, Darth Plagueis presses his case. “I know you miss him. You were Force bonded to him. I can bring him back.”

It is the ultimate temptation. And it works. Because this young woman might be born of the Force as the latest demigod Chosen One, but she is equally human. She wants what her predecessor Lord Vader wanted—love and family. It is what drove a young Jedi to the Dark Side and what prompted him to make the ultimate sacrifice. For if there is anything worth throwing it all away for, this is it. The young woman hems and haws a bit. She’s the prickly, harsh sort. But in the end, she too says yes. And that moment more than anything makes her worthy of the name Skywalker.

THE END

Story notes to come.


	39. chapter 39

Hello and thanks for reading.

For the record, this story isn’t my version of what I think happened in ROTJ. I’m not trying to rewrite canon. But as it is, the sequel trilogy destroys much of the meaning of ROTJ, along with savaging Luke Skywalker’s character. So I wanted to do a retcon version that shows how I might reconceptualize the story in this new canon context. 

One of the difficulties with writing a story like this is that the reader already knows what’s going to happen. The plot really isn’t the point of a fic like this—the characterization is what matters. The challenge is no longer sustaining the reader’s attention for ‘what will happen next?’ so much as it is providing satisfactory answers for ‘why did that happen?’ As you are reading, it’s really important to realize that while you the reader may know what will happen next, the characters do not. Hopefully the characters are written well enough that you will feel their anticipation and unease along the way.

I have tried to be clear all along that this story would follow the ROTJ ending. There was never going to be a happy ending to this tale. I’m sorry for those of you who were hoping for a different result in the throne room. The ending was already written for me by George Lucas (with some JJ Abrams gloss), so fault him if you don’t like how this turned out. I’m sure someone else—probably a far better author than I—will write a great fic with Luke and Vader killing Palpatine and ruling the galaxy happily ever after.

Did you finish the story frustrated? With a sense of futility? Well, that’s one of the main points of the story. It’s also the trap that Lucasfilm can’t see a way out of. We have the same conflicts, same worlds, same characters, and same plot resolutions repeated again and again. These constant callbacks to the past are bogging down the Star Wars universe. In many ways, Twilight of the Gods is my protest fic. I am so ready to move on to new tales, new heroes, and new themes. I’m Darth Vader wanting to turn the page on history, while Lucasfilm is Luke Skywalker trying to recreate magic of the past.

My apologies for the Marvel style episode 9 after credit scene. I couldn't resist. I really hate everything about the ending scene of TROS. Burying lightsabers—what’s that supposed to mean? Going back to the planet where so much tragedy has occurred as some sort of homecoming—how does that make any sense? And how is it relevant to a woman who has absolutely no connection to that planet in her own experience? The “I’m Rey Skywalker” ending was manipulative, forced nostalgia at its worst. It capped off a thoroughly uninspired movie. Seriously, everything bad about TROS sort of culminated in that scene.

The story of the Skywalkers turns out to be especially depressing in canon. Star Wars has its share of darker, more adult undercurrents, but TROS presents a very bleak resolution for the entire Skywalker clan. That family is even more tragic than we realized. And, sadly, more cliché. Like the Vader sacrifice in ROTJ? We got it again from Luke at Crait and then Leia does some strange shit that kills her to redeem her son. We get it—Skywalkers die for others. But what is the meaning of all that sacrifice? It’s hard to tell. The Chosen One apparently dies to save his son, but not to balance the Force. Luke dies to save his sister and her cause—that at least makes sense. But why does Leia die for her son? I mean, why does it even matter if Kylo is redeemed because he’s mostly superfluous to the ending of the sequel trilogy. He exists to revive Rey, I guess. Anyhow, you get the point—if you’re a Skywalker, your whole life is fighting, suffering, and death. Fun, huh?

Like all my Sith characters, Darth Vader is far more complex and relatable than he wants to appear. Far more vulnerable as well. This story attempts to fill in the blanks and to amplify the character without ruining him. So if you think Vader is at times out of character because he’s more than what you see on the screen, that’s precisely the point. Hey, I love the towering, laconic bad guy from the films like you do. I don’t want to take away from the awesome warlord with the penchant for choking and one-liners. But that’s the public Vader. Vader the private man is more than that in my mind.

How to show that? Here, it’s mostly through the original character of Astral. By now, I have a whole catalog of Sith love interests who exist on the edge of canon, caught up in the official sequence of events and influencing it. I like to write women in Star Wars, and I tend to write them as ordinary. I like to see how average people respond to the conflicts of the Force. I’m not very interested in the trope of a radicalized victim (the Rose Tico character from TLJ, for example) who finds strength and voice in violence. I prefer my characters to be moderate or apolitical. Until, of course, they get drawn into the fight by their Sith. That’s partly because I don’t want a character to rival the arc of my Sith Lord. It’s also because I am interested in how ordinary people respond to extraordinary events. How they make the fight their own. That’s not to say that my female characters are unaccomplished, but that they are often quite clearly the weaker partner on paper when it comes to combat scenarios. But still . . . they exert influence.

Astral is akin to Mon Mothma in my mind. A composed, somewhat soft-spoken woman who nonetheless commands authority. She means business even if she’s not in your face waving a gun all the time.

Astral exists here in the shadow of her predecessor. In his mind, Vader can't stop comparing Astral to Padme. Padme sets the standard for all things--good and bad--and Vader has never shaken that mindset. It's the trap of being the second spouse. You never get the chance to make a first impression on any particular issue. You are always in context.

In my mind, the Sith are either hot or cold. The hot Sith are the emo types who feed off anger and destruction (even self-destruction). Think raging Achilles as your archetype. These men are driven by insecurities and tormented by painful episodes they can’t seem to transcend. No amount of power or achievement will satisfy. Set them off and look out! Think Kylo Ren, probably Maul, and my version of Vitiate. Vader belongs in this category too since despite all his outwardly cold demeanor and casual executions, he's a hot mess under the mask. It's mostly because he's conflicted and he knows he shouldn't be doing what he's doing even if he can't or won't stop himself.

The cold Sith are the calculating types. Sidious and Plagueis fit this category. My version of Darth Malgus fits in this category. Lord Bane from my next story will also be a cold Sith. These are men who are governed more by strategy than by emotion. They have a lot more impulse control than their hot Sith counterparts. They are able to compartmentalize and detach themselves from their actions. It makes them conniving and subtle. More Odysseus than Achilles, if you will. Piss off a cold Sith and he will get his revenge. But it might not be by swinging his sword. Darth Malgus does it by simply walking away at the end of DARKER.

But back to Darth Vader. My Dark Side bae is one part Napoleon, one part Willy Loman, and one part Jesus. We all know the hero’s journey mythos that Star Wars (and so many other stories) retell, right? Well, I wanted to ask what happens if you get stalled on the hero’s journey? What if the journey is not what you expect? What does it mean to be the wunderkind who fails? How does that feel? Why would Vader endure and what might he want now? How has his perspective changed and how did it stay the same? More than anything, this is a story about missed opportunities—both the regrets and missteps of Vader’s past (Padme!!) and the frustrations of his present (namely, Luke). It’s about how hard it is to change, whether that means changing your own perspective or convincing someone else to change theirs. Father and son never reach any real understanding in my version of the relationship. But they try.

I hope you enjoyed this story. Vader is a pretty daunting character to write, in my mind. But I did my best.


End file.
